Black Glass
by Haleine Delail
Summary: The Jones family is in crisis. An alien attack has brought them horror and misery, and they are helpless to stop it. But they cannot trust the Doctor to help them - and why not? Has he been hiding a shameful secret that has caused their strife?
1. Chapter 1

_THIS STORY TAKES PLACE ABOUT SIX MONTHS AFTER "THE LAST OF THE TIME LORDS." _

_FAIR WARNING: IT'S GOING TO GET DISTURBING. BUT PLEASE REVEL AND ENJOY. OH, AND REVIEWS ARE OUR BREAD AND BUTTER!_

**ONE**

She was a lovely woman, but now looked haggard. In fact, there was a time when she was considered a great beauty, a nubian goddess, beautiful and brilliant. But worry had clouded her features, added a few wrinkles and stolen the shine from her eyes. She had lost too much weight, and her once-strong mind had gone into a kind of underdrive. She spent most days in a fog, a daze, mechanically taking care of the needs of her family, unable to really help, unsure of what else to try.

She and the man she loved sat silently, expectantly, at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. He was reading the paper and eating a toaster pastry. She stared at the white tile beneath her mug full of tea, around which she wrapped her hands for warmth. She still did love him, but silence had become their primary language. It hurt too much to speak – all conversations seemed to lead back to the same place. She had stopped willing him to say anything comforting or clever – she now understood that he was in as much despair as she was. The Jones family was collapsing, and he was as powerless to stop it as she was.

That's why she'd finally made the call. It was her last hope.

It had taken her weeks to decide to try to find him. After everything they had been through together, what they had both endured at the hands of the Master, she was afraid that seeing him again would awaken memories that she dared not face. It had taken months to rebuild her life, fall in love again, stop having dreams about her servitude and his helplessness during the Year the Never Was. But necessity had won out.

Though he had proved a more difficult man to track down than she had thought. She thought she could just pick up the phone and reach him, but she should have known it would never be that easy. He was a busy man. Aliens to fight, people to save, he couldn't be expected to hang about waiting for the phone to ring. Phone calls, texts, voice messages left, bribes offered, people in positions of authority denying his very existence... she had waited six weeks to get word. Finally, yesterday, the phone had rung. It was him.

He was jovial at first. She had learned during her year in close quarters with him that he had a _joie de vivre_ which seemed to mask an inner struggle. Himself versus eternity – it was quite a tough lot to face, for anyone. She actually sort of admired this quality in him. But once she had explained to him why she'd been trying to find him, his brightness faded. His voice became deadly serious, and he agreed without hesitation to come to the front lines and help.

And so here they waited, in the kitchen, with tea, wordless, like proper British.

And then the doorbell rang. Her heart palpitated just a bit as she and her not-quite-husband looked at each other. He was here.

She rose slowly from her stool and made her way to the front hallway. As she passed the mirror near the coatrack, she caught a glimpse of herself. She seemed to be looking at herself for the first time, and wondered who this old, hollow-eyed person was looking back at her. She went to the door, and a bony, brown hand reached for the knob and pulled.

There he was. A tall man in a long coat, handsome and familiar, unchanged since last they met. This was perfectly natural – it was part of who he was. But she found that she resented it. Heartache and strife had aged her considerably, while he remained as youthful as ever.

Nevertheless, she was so glad to see him, she wept. Without a word, they fell into a hug, and he kissed the top of her head as she cried. When she got control of herself, she pulled away and wiped her tears, a bit ashamed of her lack of decorum. She invited him inside and thanked him for coming.

By this time, the silent man from the kitchen had come to the foyer to greet the guest whom he hoped would be their saviour. The two shook hands solemnly, their eyes meeting fleetingly in recognition both of each other and the dilemma in which they now found themselves. The man of the house offered his guest some tea, and the guest declined. He wanted to sink his teeth in this problem as soon as possible.

"Where is she?" asked the newcomer, picking up the briefcase he'd brought in.

"She's upstairs in her bedroom," answered the lady, with a heavy swallow. "Same place she's been ever since... _it happened_."

"Take me to her."

The two of them padded up the stairs while the family's breadwinner escaped off the work. When they reached the bedroom at the end of the hall, she gave the tall man a meaningful look. He touched her shoulder reassuringly, and they both took a deep breath. She pushed open the door.

There, on the bed, sat the tiny figure, dressed only in an oversized white tee-shirt with some corporate logo on the front. She was trembling, all curled up with her knees at her chest, and her eyes open wide like saucers. She gasped and turned her head, bird-like, in the direction of the door. Her breathing grew heavy, as the light streaming in made her nervous. She recoiled from it, turning her body away, attempting to crawl back into herself, it seemed.

Francine Jones and Captain Jack Harkness stood in the doorway and stared.

"Dear God," he whispered to her. "I'm so glad you called me."

"She's been like this for almost six months," Francine told him, her voice catching a bit in her throat. "I had to do something. You were my last hope, Jack."

He stared for a few moments, marveling at how things had changed. Last time he'd seen Martha, she was just coming off from having walked around the world on a crusade to stop the Master, tough as nails, both inside and out. Now, she was here, cowering and shivering like a leaf. He felt a surge of rage toward whatever, or whomever, had done this to her.

"Where's Tom?" asked Jack.

"He left," Francine told him simply. "About a month after it happened. Went to stay with an aunt in Ireland for a bit. He couldn't handle... this," she said, gesturing bitterly toward her eldest daughter, reduced to a quivering mass in an upstairs bedroom.

"Bastard," Jack whispered.

"Well, I can't really blame him," Francine said. "He... he tried his best to take care of her, but in the end... he was so torn up."

"Yeah," he sighed.

A thought was nagging at him. It had been at the back of his brain since yesterday when he'd spoken to Francine on the phone. It occurred to him that he, Jack Harkness, was not exactly the first choice for the Jones family to call in a time of this type of crisis. But he had refrained from asking. But over the last twenty-four hours, that thought at the back of his brain had worked its way to the front, and now could not stop himself from asking, in a whisper, "Francine, why didn't you call the Doctor?"

Her eyes welled with tears once more. These days they seemed to be always just below the surface.

"We did," she told him.

"And?"

She took a deep breath, trying to control herself. "He came."

Jack waited.

"He made it worse."

"He made it worse? How so?"

She pulled the door shut. The two of them now stood in a pristine white hallway.

In a low, wispy voice, she explained, "After the attack, when the doctors – the medical doctors – couldn't help her, Clive recalled Martha saying she'd left her mobile with the Doctor – the _proper _Doctor – and he could be reached anywhere in time and space. So we called. Of course we did! We didn't hesitate!"

"And he came?"

"He came," she sighed. "And the instant she saw him, she began to scream. She threw herself into the corner, away from him, and screamed bloody murder. She hyperventilated. She pushed him away when he tried to get close, even kicked him, scratched him until she drew blood. I've never seen anyone fight that hard."

"And hasn't done that to anyone else who's tried to help?" Jack asked.

"No, her father or I change her clothes for her every day," Francine said, shakily. "Her sister feeds her sometimes, her brother reads to her, and she's never reacted that way. Only the Doctor. Before _he_ came, she was just sort of... robotic, like, in a walking coma almost. After he came, she was... well, you saw. She's frightened of everything, she won't speak, won't eat on her own, can't get herself to the loo..." she broke. Tears flowed freely now.

"I'm sorry," Jack said. He didn't know what else to say.

She stared at nothing, beyond him. "Her reaction to him, Jack," she whispered. Then her eyes narrowed angrily and shifted to his, and penetrated. "If you could have seen it... so violent, so terrified of him. It makes me wonder..."

"Now, now, Francine," Jack stopped her. "Don't go there. Just tell me about the attack."


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

"It's been quite strange. After that non-existent year together, Clive and I decided to give it another go, for our family. And then this happened," Francine explained as she took the kettle off the boil and poured. Jack had decided to accept that cup of tea after all, and now the two of them were in the kitchen, and he was sitting where Clive had been just twenty minutes earlier.

The cup steamed in front of him, and he leaned on the counter with his hands around it, but he did not take a sip. He wasn't British, never had been one for tea – a good cup of American coffee was more his bag. But he'd learned in his long, long travels through the Isles that tea was the perfect way to disarm a Brit, the perfect catalyst to conversation, the perfect way to prove yourself worthy of their trust. All could be revealed over a nice spot of tea.

"I bet that put a strain on your relationship," Jack asked. "Have you gotten remarried?"

"No," she said, pouring out her old unfinished cup into the sink. "We meant to, but what with Martha... we just haven't..."

"I see," he said solemnly.

"But it's been good, mostly," she said, sitting down and pouring some new tea for herself. "I couldn't have handled this on my own, and he _does _do his share when he's home. I've had to quit my job to be with her, so Clive spends most of his time at work nowadays."

"That's good to hear, I mean, that he does his share," Jack said. He leaned back and began to shrug off his coat. He gently draped the shoulders over the back of his stool. "Now Francine, are you going to tell me about the attack?"

She didn't look at him. She wrapped her hands comfortingly around the warm mug once more, and stared at the white tile beneath. She took a deep breath.

"I wasn't there," she said finally. "It was Tish who saw everything. Or saw nothing, depending on how you look at it."

Jack leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

"They'd gone to the cinema together, Martha and Tish. Then I guess they went out for a pint or two, and decided to walk back to Martha and Tom's flat, since it was the closest. Tish said they were laughing a lot, being a bit silly 'cause they'd had a few," Francine smiled tearfully at this, imagining both of her girls happy again. "And then it happened. On the way home from the pub, it happened."

Francine began to fondle her necklace. Absently, she noted that Martha had given her the necklace two Christmases ago. Before the divorce, before the Doctor, before any of it.

"What happened?" Jack probed gently.

"There was, apparently out of nowhere, a blinding light, and an _otherworldly_ scream. Martha yelled for her to 'get down,' and as Tish ducked out of the way into a doorjamb, Martha was hit with some kind of blast. Tish tried to keep her eyes open, tried to see what it was, but the light was too bright. When it faded, there was nothing left, except Martha, sitting on the pavement."

"She didn't see a shape, see any movement within the light, anything?"

Francine stared into her cup. "She says she didn't. She says the light was too bright, she had to close her eyes."

"And Martha was sitting on the pavement," Jack confirmed.

"She was sitting there," Francine whispered incredulously. "Just sitting there, staring at her feet. Tish tried to bring her round, but she wouldn't respond. She was sitting up, eyes open, blinking, conscious... but no response. Tish couldn't even get Martha to her feet."

"So what did she do next?"

"Tish phoned Tom, and he came and carried Martha back to their flat. He tried examining her, but he couldn't find anything physically wrong," Francine explained. Finally, she looked at Jack. "That's when we started taking her to every hospital in the area."

"What did they say?"

"They all said the same thing," she told him. She adopted a mock-official, institutional tone. "That she's showing outward signs of deep neurological damage, but CAT scans show no physiological anomaly. They could tell us no more. And what were we supposed to say? That she was most likely the victim of an alien attack, and that they should check for signs of extraterrestrial interference?" She chuckled bitterly.

"So that's when you called the Doctor," he said.

She sighed. "Yes. By then, Tom was already gone. I think he always found Martha's ties to the Doctor a bit wearing anyway, and to see her in a walking stupor like that as a result of some alien wiles, well... I try very hard not to feel bitterly towards him. He's just one man."

She took an unnecessarily long sip out of her mug.

"How long before he was able to get here?" asked Jack.

"Just like you, he showed up on our doorstep the next day with an earnest look on his face and an eagerness to help," she told him, her voice having dropped half an octave.

"Were you with him the whole time that he was with her?"

"Yes, both Clive and I," she insisted. "We escorted the Doctor up to her room, opened the door, and that's when the screaming began. He tried... but I've told you what happened. He wasn't in the house five minutes total. When he left, he had scratches on his face and hands that were oozing blood."

"And he just... left?"

"He offered to stay, but Clive told him to go. He promised he'd be back when he found the answer, but we haven't heard from him since," Francine said, taking another long sip.

"Well, in his defence, it would be hard for him to find the answer if he can't get near enough to examine her," Jack explained. "And if all Tish saw was a bright light, then it will be a long while before he'll be able to narrow down the culprits enough to be of any help."

"That's what we've tried to tell ourselves," Francine said slowly. Her eyes narrowed once more, and her gaze fell on Jack's face. She sat staring for a long, uncomfortable moment. "She trusted him, Jack. She _loved _him."

"I know," Jack said, taking her hand. "But let's not jump to conclusions, Francine."

She began to weep, once again, and as she spoke, her voice escalated. She was a mother, and her grief was bigger than she was. "I just know that she's suffering in there, inside her head. I know that it's _horrible_ and it's destroying her and it's not getting any better. I know that whatever's inside is keeping her trapped there, keeping her silent. And I know what I saw, Jack, I know that she recoiled from him, kicked and screamed and fought him like her life depended upon it! A mother can sense certain things, and in that moment, I knew, Jack, I _knew_ that whatever has stolen her mind, _it's to do with the Doctor!_"

"Okay, okay," he said, taking her other hand, trying to soothe her.

"What did he do to her?" she pleaded, her eyes imploring him for answers, her voice high-pitched and straining through tears.

"That's what I'm here to find out," Jack assured her.


	3. Chapter 3

_FAIR WARNING: THIS IS __DARK._ _IF YOU'RE READING THIS HOPING TO FEEL COMFY IN YOUR LOVE OF THE DOCTOR, THEN... WELL, READ ANOTHER STORY! IT WILL BE A WHILE BEFORE THIS STORY GETS COMFY AGAIN._

**THREE**

"What is that thing?" Francine asked. She and Jack were in Martha's room, and he was extracting a funny-looking contraption from his briefcase.

Martha herself was on the bed where they had left her, sitting up, now with her knees pulled inside her oversized shirt, arms around them, rocking back and forth. She seemed not to register Jack's presence after the first ten seconds he was in the room with her. The light had startled her as before, but then they had shut the door, and she seemed to draw back into herself. Whatever was going on inside her head now had her full attention once more.

A few minutes before, as he had crossed the threshold into the room, he had been half hoping that she would sense him, somehow assosicate him with some painful memory about aliens and death, and have an adverse reaction to him. Perhaps then, they could all stop worrying that the Doctor had done something horrible to her. But no such luck. The Time Lord remained the only being who could not come near Martha.

"This," he said to Francine to answer her question, "Is, well... it's a mind-reader. It's got some fancy-schmancy name that I can't remember because it's in Nevolish Sral, which is the native language of a planet on the edge of the Lefftok Galaxy. I introduced the daughter of the planet's High Priest to her husband, so the High Priest owed me a favor, and he gave me this..."

She stared at him with frustrated inquisitiveness.

He waved off his own words. "You know what? Never mind. The point is, it's alien technology, and it's going to help me see what's going on inside Martha's pretty head."

As he fitted parts of it together, and metal pieces made clicking sounds as they locked into place, Martha seemed to flinch. She reacted to them as though they were shotgun blasts, and by the time Jack had assembled the contraption, she had her hands over her ears and was making a high-pitched, low-volume wailing sound. Her mother tried to comfort her, but Martha's mental state was extremely, and inconveniently, selective about what sorts of external stimuli it chose to heed. It took about five minutes to calm her completely.

"Are we ready?" he asked Francine after a pause.

"I suppose so," she said, standing up from her daughter's bed. "What are you hoping to see?"

"Best case scenario? I'll see the attack, possibly be able to identify the perpetrating alien, and from there be able to figure out how to reverse its effects. Worse case scenario, I see a bunch of jumbled-up rock-video images from random times in her life, both real and imaginary, so fragmented and individually meaningless that I won't be able to decipher any of it."

"Oh, lovely," Francine said, sighing heavily.

"Here goes nothing," he said. He took a seat on a small stool at the foot of Martha's bed. He was met with some resistance when he tried to fit the receiver over Martha's head, ears and eyes, so Francine held her arms. Once the equipment was in place, Martha didn't fight anymore. A small helmet covered the top of her head, and a pair of ocular scanners fitted over her eyes. They were each connected by a metal casing to earbuds, and finally a strap held the whole thing on by cutting across the back of her head. It didn't look comfortable at all, and Jack had never tried it on a human, but he figured if it didn't work, they were no worse off than when they had started.

He fitted a similar device on himself, minus the helmet. Once his eyes and ears were covered, he had a strange sensation of falling...

* * *

Martha lay on the floor. She was trembling. All around her there was screaming and cold and stone. The pungent stench of foul humanity weighed heavily in the air. She felt nothing but hardness and some straw.

And then she saw the bars. It was mostly dark, but she could see bars. She was in a cell, trapped among the screaming and wretched. Panic surged through her. How the hell did she get here? Perhaps if she could work that out, she could work out how to escape.

She remembered being in a tight space... she'd been inside a box for some time. How long, she had no idea. She had been a prisoner then, too, she knew that much. When she arrived here, she had run, tried to get help, tried to explain, but no one listened, no one cared. Instead, the men had declared her mad and hit her over the head... and now she was here.

She tried to touch her head to examine the bruise, but found that her hands were shackled to her feet with rusty old chains. Hands together and feet together, she couldn't move. The pain in her head felt bad enough to be a mild concussion, and a new panic shot through her. And then she realised that her bladder was full. Once she realised it, she couldn't think of anything else. Powerless and trapped, she had no choice but to relieve herself as she lay there, and then begin to whimper. She'd never felt so alone, so confused or so humiliated. Except for maybe once...

Hours it seemed, she lay there, wet and cold, unsure of anything. And then, a large man came into her cell. He did not speak to her at first, but doused the entire space with frigid cold water that stank of fish and excrement, and then doused Martha herself. She twitched on the floor in reaction to the shock, and gasped for the breath it had taken from her. When her voice found leverage, she cried out, "Oi, where the hell am I?"

"You best keep silent, Miss," the large man growled. "Or you'll find your mouth wired shut as well."

"What?"

"Hush!" He stepped outside the gate for a moment, and when he came back, he had a chunk of dry bread the size of a small child's fist. He shoved it in her mouth and said, "Eat."

She struggled to chew it and swallow before he shoved it down her throat, and then he seemed to splash wine over her face. She supposed that he was trying to get her to drink it, so she instictively opened her mouth, though not much wine succeeded in getting in.

"There now," he said. "See you tomorrow."

He left her on the floor in the dark, sputtering, choking a bit, face splashed with wine.

She found that time meant nothing in this place. No windows or doors nearby assured that she had no clue what time of day it was. All she knew was that her joints were growing stiff, the shackles were rubbing her skin raw, and the large man came in to douse her with frigid water three more times before anything different happened. In that time, she became dirty, bloody, smelly, increasingly weak and more humiliated by the hour. Her only human contact, other than the screaming from elsewhere in the building, was with the water man, and the only food she got was one chunk of dry bread per day, and a few ounces of wine splashed on her face. She spent her time crying, struggling, then crying some more. Occasionally, she would be able to sleep, but the screams pretty much prevented that. No hope, no will... but she could not die.

And then she heard the familiar voice.

"Do you honestly think this place is any good?" it asked.

"I've been mad, I've lost my mind," a second voice answered. "Fear of this place set me right again. Serves its purpose."

"You lost your son," the familiar voice said.

"My only boy, the Black Death took him. I wasn't even there. It made me question everything. The futility of this fleeting existence... to be or not to be..." then the second voice paused. "Oh, that's quite good."

"You should write that down."

_To be or not to be?_ Someone in this place is quoting Shakespeare? And then a realisation came. Oh, my God, it _was _Shakespeare! This was the year 1599, she remembered now coming here! She was in the right city at the wrong time. Now all she had to do was wait four hundred years for her time to come.

Shakespeare, yes. But the other voice, the really familiar one... it weighed heavily on her mind. She didn't hear it for a while, but it echoed inside her head. She closed her eyes tight, either in an effort to concentrate harder or to push it out entirely. She wasn't sure which.

The voice rose up again from a nearby cell. "No!" it screamed. It resonated loudly in Martha's consciousness like a rush of thunder. "Ah fourteen! That's it! Fourteen! The fourteen stars of the Rexel Planet Configuration! Creature, I name you _Carrionite!_"

And then a piercing female scream. And then nothing.

The voice gave her chills, made her excited and furious at the same time. Who was it? What had he done? _Why was she here?_

And then she saw them. Shakespeare and the owner of The Voice, passing by her cell, being escorted by the jailer.

They stopped. Her eyes met with his.

_The Doctor_. That was it. The voice.

And every muscle in her body tensed. Every fibre of her existence recoiled from his face as a sinister grin spread over his features, and his dark eyes penetrated hers. She began to struggle once more against the chains, and began to cry out for help. Useless in this place filled with screams for help and loud, obscene cries to be set free.

"Does my Lord Doctor wish some entertainment before he leaves?" asked the jailer. "I'll whip her if you like. She'll put on a good show for you."

The Doctor never took his eyes off her, and his lips seem to move in slow motion as he formed the words, "Yes, I do."

She struggled harder, tried to move away from the bars, take herself out of his deadly gaze, pull her body out of the line of fire. But of course it did no good... the jailer was inside her cell along with the Doctor before she knew what was happening.

The jailer hauled her to her feet. Her stiff, aching joints meant that she was in serious pain before the flogging even began, and the shackles meant that she was bent at the waist with her hands at her shins. She was turned sideways, her bum facing the west wall, her face the east, and the Doctor was on her left side. She heard the whip a split second before she felt it, and when it cracked across her backside, resonated against her soaking-wet jeans, she felt as though she would break in half. She glanced at the Doctor, and his maniacal smile was growing by the moment.

Another crack across her backside. This one caused her to give in to her tears. Her humiliation and pain was complete, and look on the Doctor's face grew more and more greedy as she wept and begged them to stop, more and more..

* * *

That was enough. Captain Jack tore the contraption from his head. He found that he was panting and sweating. His heart was racing. He looked at Francine with desperate eyes. Martha looked exactly as she had when he had lost himself in her nightmare: semi-comatose, jumpy, completely mad. He hastily took the device from her head as well, as if it could save her from those thoughts.

He sat for a moment with his head down and his elbows resting on his knees. He caught his breath, and then turned his head to face Francine. "How long was I in there?"

"Two or three minutes is all," she said, fondling her necklace again. "What did you see?"

He sat up straight and looked at her earnestly. "You'd better sit down."


	4. Chapter 4

**FOUR**

They ate lunch in silence. Peanut butter on toast. And tea, of course. Always tea. This time, Jack drank some. He wanted to find solace, and so many people in his life could find solace in tea, that he grasped at it. Really what he wanted was a good shot of bourbon and brush to scrub out the inside of his brain.

Francine hadn't said a word since Jack had finished telling her what he had seen in Martha's mind. He thought he suspected what she was thinking, and he was aching to speak to her about it, but he allowed her to stew in peace. She would say something when she was ready.

She finished her sandwich, and sat staring at nothing, her napkin still clasped tightly in her right hand. His suspicions were confirmed, when finally, at long last, she said, without emotion, "He asked them to whip her, and then watched."

"Yes," Jack said, swallowing some of his beverage.

She closed her eyes as if to steady herself. She spat, "That... _filth_." Her voice was dry, raspy. Her anger bubbled like lava.

"Francine," he said gently. "I don't think it was a memory, just a nightmare. Think about it: if that had really happened, she would have lost her mind _long _before she actually did."

She looked at him squarely. "_She told me_ they'd met Shakespeare. _She told me _they'd gone to Bedlam in 1599, and that they whipped people for sport. I know they were there, Jack."

"Yes, they went to 1599 and met Shakespeare, and went to Bedlam. But Bedlam didn't accept women at that time," he offered, again, gently. "I really don't think it was real."

"Well, it certainly would explain a lot," Francine said, hardly listening to him.

"Yes, but..."

"If that's what he did to her, no wonder she tried to scratch out his eyes," Francine was now standing, ranting. "And good for her, I say! I _knew_ that damn Doctor couldn't be trusted! I knew it!"

"Francine, calm down," Jack said, trying to get her back into her chair. She stared at him with the same frustrated incredulity he'd seen in the bedroom a half-hour before.

He could see that he wasn't going to be able to convince her to give the Doctor the benefit of the doubt, in the circumstances. The woman had been running on pure adrenaline for six months, and her nerves were frayed to nothing. Jack wasn't going to try to keep her objective – most mothers aren't good at being objective about their children's misery anyhow. He would simply let her fume, as long as she stayed out of his way.

"I need to do it again, Francine," he told her, honestly unsure of what she would say.

She sighed. She looked at him as if the whole thing were _his _fault, as though his connection to aliens, time travel and general weirdness made him responsible for what was happening to Martha.

"Why?" she asked, coldly.

"Because, in this particular, shall we say, 'episode,' she already knew the Doctor and was already scared of him. She saw his face and recoiled even in the nightmare – now you and I both know that's not natural. And their trip to Shakespeare country was early on in their relationship. Mind you, I still don't believe for a minute that any of it's real, but in her mind, something must have happened before that, which scared her even more..." he trailed off.

Still with the incredulous stare. "And _this _is supposed to help me calm down?" she shrieked.

"...and there was some indication that she had been frightened and humiliated to this degree only once before. It must have happened right when they met. If I can figure out what it is, maybe I can free her from it."

"You're going to free her from it by making her re-live it?"

"Yes," Jack told her. "Haven't you ever heard of Sybil and her dissociative personality disorder?"

"Are you saying Martha has multiple personalities?"

"No, no... you're missing the point," he was a bit exasperated now. He took a deep breath. "Look, I need to go back into her mind to find out what else she thinks happened. It might be the only way I can help her."

Francine took a deep breath and forced her panic down. She kept her lips tight – she was tired of crying. Jack waited patiently for her to get control. Finally, she said, "Just tell me one thing. Is what you're doing harming my daughter?"

"No," Jack told her truthfully. "She's going to re-live these things either way. The only thing I can do is watch and learn."

"Then do what you have to do," she whispered, without looking at him.

Minutes later, butterflies dancing in his stomach, he was on his way back up the stairs. Once again, he opened the bedroom door and saw her. Invoking the unique voice his pin-striped wearing, time-traveling friend, he stared at Martha, and uttered, "Blimey." Once more into the breach.

He took his place on the stool at the end of the bed. Once he was fitted with his end of the apparatus, he held Martha's half in his hand and hesitated for a moment. Last time, she'd fought this part.

"Are you going to do this nicely, Martha?" he asked her, of course, expecting no response.

He reached out to fit her with the small helmet, and she batted it away. It rolled to the floor. With a sigh, Jack picked it up. Patiently, he said to her, "Now look. I want to help you, Martha, and this is the only way I can. _I don't want to have to hold you down and force you_, but for your own good, I will. Do you understand?"

For some reason, this speech sparked some sentience in her. For the first time since he arrived, and indeed for the first time in months, she looked directly at him with clear eyes. She held his gaze. Jack's heart sped up. It was all he could do not to reach out and grab her, and hug her to him.

He kept his voice even, and said, "You _do _understand."

Her eyes closed for a moment, and when she opened them, she uttered the first words she'd said in almost six months: "Burn with me." It was flat and expressionless. And with it, she went back to her catatonic state, fidgeting, twitching, looking at nothing except the demons inside her head.

She'd been almost lucid for ten seconds! And now, she was back to the way she was. Jack felt discouraged both by the phrase, which he had no idea what to do with, and by her reversion. He exhaled frustratedly, and then tried once more to fit Martha's helmet to her head. This time, she let him.

* * *

He had hoped to see something of importance, some tiny thread of an idea that would bring him to the answer. And failing that, he hoped to see _definitive_ evidence that her constant nightmares were just that – nightmares, and not anything resembling the reality she'd experienced while travelling with the Doctor. But when he was finished watching the scenes inside her mind this time, he had no answers, and no solace. He was more confused than ever. He decided to record what he'd seen, right then and there, before the details escaped him.

He extracted a dictaphone from his inside pocket and quickly narrated, in as much specificity as he could, the horrors inside the mind of Martha Jones. Anecdotal though they were, they had to be helpful somehow, to someone. He had told Francine that the worst case scenario would be that he'd get a bunch of flashes of things with no meaning attached to them. Well, that's almost what he'd gotten, but somehow, they fit together, he could feel it. He just needed someone to tell him the timeline, give him background, give him _anything._ If nothing else, he needed to know if this vision occurred before or after the whipping in 1599.

And there was only one "person" who had been in all of the visions, other than Martha herself. Jack needed to bring him in. _Desperate times,_ he told himself. He knew Francine and Clive would not approve, but in the end, he was sure they'd be grateful for whatever means he applied to help Martha. Besides, sneaking around was his forte.

Having decided on a course of action, he went downstairs. It was barely one o'clock. He'd been in the Jones home only since half-past nine this morning, but it felt like a week.

"Well?" Francine asked.

"It was weird," he said contemplatively. "There was this helmet, and a spaceship on the moon. The ship was in danger somehow, and Martha was... possessed maybe? And in a smaller spaceship with another guy... but the smaller spaceship had avocado green and harvest gold wallpaper on the inside, and lace curtains."

Francine blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, I don't know," Jack said.

"What about the Doctor, was he in this memory?"

"Vision, Francine, we'll call them visions."

"Fine. Was the Doctor in this vision?"

"Yes, but I don't want to say anymore until I know more about what's happening. Knowing all the details will just upset you," he told her. "I'm going to call my team this afternoon and see if they can bring up any of these images on the ethernet, see if any of it is archetypal or associated with any known alien species."

"All right," she said. "Where are you staying?"

"I'll be at the Reem Hotel in Prince's Square," he answered. He gave her a little slip of paper with the hotel's address and phone number. "You can ring if you want. I'll be back tomorrow, same time, okay?"

"Okay," she sighed. "Thank you, Jack."


	5. Chapter 5

**FIVE**

The hotel was tough to find, as Prince's Square was actually L-shaped. But once he asked for directions, it's not as though the place was off the beaten track. He checked in, checked his e-mail, and while he was online, looked up the mobile phone line registered to Martha Jones. He had to do a bit of hacking to find it, but it wasn't hard – it's what he did. After showering, he sat down on the bed and thought about what he would say. He turned his phone over and over in his hands, wondering what his exact words would be. In the end, he knew it wouldn't matter, the Doctor would come. But still, he wanted to convey the gravity of what he'd seen.

He took a deep breath and dialed.

After the line clicked open, there was a palpable pause. Then, "Hello?"

The great and wonderful words he'd hoped for never came. So he said, "Doctor."

A sigh on the other end. "Jack."

"Sorry, my voice probably isn't the one you wanted to hear."

"No, but..." said the Doctor. He hesitated, then, "...it's nice to hear from you anyway."

"Thanks," Jack said. "What are you up to?"

"We're in Pompeii. Vesuvius blows tomorrow," the Time Lord told him, casually.

"We? Travelling with someone new?" Jack asked, attempting to sound casual, but not hiding the apprehension in his voice very well. He couldn't help it – today's events had caused him to realise once again that the Doctor really did leave sadness in his wake.

"Yes," the Doctor said, sucking in air. "Her name's Donna. She's fantastic."

"They're all fantastic, Doctor."

There was a long pause. Jack could hear him exhale exhaustively.

"Are you calling for the reason I think?" asked the Doctor, trying to cut to the chase.

"Yeah."

"Been to see Francine, have you?"

"Yeah."

"Thank heaven. I've been waiting for someone to get close enough to do... _something. _Does Francine know you're calling me?"

"God, no."

"Good. So how is... her daughter?" asked the Doctor, straightforwardly, though carefully.

"Insane," Jack told him, shrugging. "I don't think much has changed since you last saw her."

"When I last saw her, I made everything worse."

"I heard."

"I couldn't even be in the same room to figure out what exactly was wrong with her," the Doctor confessed, with obvious remorse in his voice. Jack swore he heard a little catch as the Doctor spoke.

"Well, I could," Jack announced. "Some years ago I stole a Nevolish Consciousness Visor off a dead guy who'd been smuggling them anyway. It came in handy."

The Doctor in his TARDIS sat up and leaned forward. "So you actually saw what was going on in her head?"

"Yes."

"Did you see who attacked her?"

"No. But what I did see was almost as revealing," Jack told him. "I'm at the Reem Hotel in Prince's Square. Come over at five. Bring a bottle of bourbon, and I'll get us some room service."

"Make it for three, if you don't mind."

"Sure."

Right on time, Jack heard the grind and whoosh that signaled the Doctor was nearby. He saw the blue box materialise on the other side of the street, and waited for the Doctor and his new companion to join him. He was relieved when he met Donna, he had to admit. The tall dashing Time Lord, it seemed, was only just starting to realise his power. He had always been one with destruction and death, but lately he'd been leaving a neat little trail of broken hearts as well. It was nice to see that Donna was not a hot little twentysomething who was bound to be annihilated by a tilt of the Doctor's eyebrow. Donna might actually have a chance.

Introductions made, they ate a tight dinner together in Jack's cramped room. Another meal taken in near silence, weighed down by the revelations of Martha's 1599 nightmare. Jack had told the story as they began eating, and the meal finished beneath a dark cloud. The Doctor hadn't looked either of his friends in the eye since hearing the tale and hadn't uttered a word, though Donna and Jack had exchanged pleasanteries about the food.

Once the plates and cart were cleared, Jack attempted to engage eye contact from his taciturn friend. "Doctor. Say something."

"What would you like me to say, Jack? That none of it's true?" He still wouldn't make eye contact.

"No, I already know that part," Jack assured him. "Tell me something I don't know."

"That was the day Peter Streete died," the Time Lord mused absently. "The Carrionite killed him – one of the older ones. The younger one tried to do it to Martha as well, but couldn't... Martha was out of her time, she said."

"And? What about Bedlam?"

"I think that bothered her more than anything," he continued. "She's the one who was taking Shakespeare and the jailer to task for the conditions there, not me."

There was another long silence. Jack had been hoping that from the characteristics of this tale, the Doctor would be able to figure it all out. He'd recognise the stamp of a particularly nasty alien, and know exactly how to reverse the effects. But no such luck. He too now seemed to be imprisoned inside his own thoughts.

Finally, Jack whispered, "Doctor? There was another vision as well. I went back up after lunch and hooked up the device again."

The Doctor snapped out of his state. "Well, let's hear it, then."

Jack crossed the room to where his coat hung in the wardrobe. He reached into the pocket for his dictophone and tossed it to the Doctor. Donna and Jack sat side-by-side on the bed as the Doctor paced. The Doctor stared at the little machine for about thirty seconds, ceremoniously hit _play_, and then set it down on the desk. They all listened to Jack's recording of Martha's afternoon vision.

"_Okay,"_ the voice on the tape said. _"This vision is much less coherent than the last one, and I can't make heads or tails of it."_

As his crisp American cadence filled up the London room, like a red paint spilled on a yellow floor, Jack's mind rolled back to the horror he'd witnessed, after the sensation of falling...

* * *

She'd seen some pretty incredible things in her time with _him_, but this gave her a sense of almost unreasonable awe. It was the moon. She peered outside of the spaceship to see the moon.

"It's real," she said to herself.

Four men were outside, which she felt was awesome as well as unnatural. They were bouncing around like slow beach balls. Two of them are in white space-suits, and two seem to be in street clothes with red helmets. If they could have seen her face through the tiny round window, they would have seen a big smile, perhaps the first one since...

A noise behind her made her turn. One of the men in the red helmets was standing there. The smile on Martha's face faded all too quickly. She knew that this meant death, but she could not help but try to engage him. She opened her mouth to say something, and he interrupted her.

He croaked out the phrase "Burn with me." His voice was menacing, predatory, and all at once, she found herself bathed in a searing glow. It forced her skin into retreat, and she could feel that in a moment, it would begin melting from her bones. Martha wanted to run, but she could not. She had gone from euphoria to panic all in a few seconds – actually, she found that the two sensations were remarkably similar. There was nowhere to run, no way to run, so she did the only thing she could do. She screamed for help, and tried to cover her face with her hands. Suddenly, _he_ was there. As she screamed and shielded her eyes, all the Doctor had to say was, "Beware... the weeping angel."

As the glow became all-consuming, just when she thought she would fly apart into nothing, she was in another room. There was a woman, dark and pretty, in the small room with her. She's called Abby. The room had what looked like an MRI chamber, but... it couldn't be – this was not a hospital, it was a spaceship. And there was graffitti, which Martha read as she turned round the room. "Duck. No, really duck!" it said. "Sally Sparrow, duck, now!"

And then the graffitti was gone. It went away as if it were never there, and all that was left was an old, blue and yellow scalloped wallpaper. Martha blinked several times – had she really seen that?

"Did you see that?" she asked Abby.

"See what?" Abby asked back, as she made some notes on an important-looking clipboard.

"The walls, they..."

When Martha looked back, the walls were again sporting their graffitti. This time, the giant block letters said, "Life is short, and you are hot."

Abby chuckled. "I'm what?" And then she went back to her work.

And then _he _was there again. The Doctor, looking very un-Doctor-like in a red space suit, was in the room with them. His head was uncovered, and he wore his glasses, but his eyes were closed. She remarked briefly, and inappropriately, how silly it is to wear one's glasses if one is simply going to walk about with one's eyes shut.

He spoke, and as he did, the room went orange and Martha's vision was blurred- no, not blurred. More grainy like an old film.

"Don't blink," he said firmly, his voice sounding far away, as through a speaker. He seemed to be looking at Abby, though not so much at her as _through _her. "Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead. Don't turn your back. Don't look away and _don't blink._"

While he was talking, he was opening his eyes and the same world-swallowing light came out of them. Right at Abby. The solid stream burning her, burning her skin off the bones, as Martha had felt a bit earlier... come to think of it, why was Martha even alive now? Surely Abby would die.

Martha screamed at the Doctor to close his eyes, for God's sake, close them, but he kept repeating his "Don't blink" speech. Eyes must stay open, focused, murderous. Abby was screaming now too, joining Martha's misery in the air, as well as the Doctor's unrelenting, cold, distant oration. Finally, just as the skin spread from the bones of her face and her skull became visible, Abby disintegrated into nothing, leaving only a silhouette on the wall.

When he turned on Martha, she felt her skin singeing again, she stumbled backward, her eyes spilling over now. "Doctor, please," she begged. "Close your eyes. Let me stay!" She found that she was sobbing. After all they had been through, she still had a will to live, and a desire to be in the universe with the Doctor.

"No second chances, that's the kind of man I am," he said.

"But I love you!" she screamed. Her voice wasn't even recognisable as her own anymore. It had become a sandblast in the form of language. "I love you! How could you do this to me? Please let me come back with you! Let me come with you!"

"I let you come with me," he rasped, mocking. "And I called you Rose."

She was up against the wall now, hysterical, destroyed, helpless, with nowhere to run.

"Blink and you're dead," he told her, burning her alive.

"I'm already dead," she insisted, lowering her voice. She croaked, "You killed me long ago."

As she put her hands up in front of her face in a futile gesture to stop the end of the world, suddenly she turned to stone. And the searing heat stopped.

She was cold as ice now, and trapped within her granite prison. She couldn't see him, as her eyes were forever affixed in front of her face, but she could hear him still, feel his hot, angry breath on her cold stone skin.

"It's your fault!" he screamed at her sullen form. "You should have scanned for life!"

His voice was high-pitched and penetrating. If she had been alive, it would have hurt her ears. As it was, his fury threatened to shatter her.

"If you don't get rid of it, I could kill you! It'll use me to kill you!"

She feared no threat any longer. Breathing hard and baring his teeth he stepped away from her. He was back in his pin-striped trousers and dress shirt. No tie, no jacket, no top button, no shoes. In exasperated rage, he turned away from her. As he did, her stone body seemed to loosen, and she reached out and touched him.

A blast, a pop. Then nothing.


	6. Chapter 6

**SIX**

The Doctor was staring at the dictophone as if it were possessed. The tape ran down and snapped itself off. No one said anything for quite a while. Jack's day had been rife with awful silences, and he was sick of it.

"Does any of it mean anything to you, Doctor?" he asked.

"Yes, she's mixing up two separate, unrelated events. One was a ship that had mined a living sun for fuel, and the sun particles were possessing members of the crew – including me. It burned people alive, it was horrible. We saved the ship from careening into the sun," the Doctor explained, still staring.

"You mean the moon?" Donna asked, having remembered the description on the tape.

"No, I mean the sun. The moon image probably came from the other time period," he said. "We got zapped by weeping angels into the year 1969 and watched the moon landing on the telly. She was so excited by it, I'm sure it's burned into her consciousness somehow. As is the graffitti I left on the walls of that house, as are the weeping angels themselves..."

"What are the weeping angels?" asked Jack.

"The question is," the Doctor said, ignoring him, and beginning to pace again. "What does it mean? She turned to stone, she feels trapped."

"The burning's got to mean something," Donna offered.

"Okay," the Doctor said, gesturing encouragingly. "Okay, but what?"

"There's subservience in the 1599 vision," Jack mentioned. "Chains, whips, a predatory smile on your face. It was kind of... you know, S&M-ish."

Luckily the Doctor heard him, but chose to ignore the innuendo.

"Okay, building, building," the Doctor said. And then he stopped dead. He siezed the dictophone suddenly and listened to the last part of the recording again. Jack's voice came through the speaker.

"_She couldn't move or speak, but she could hear him screaming at her. I think his words were 'it's your fault, you should have scanned for life.' And then he said 'if you don't get rid of it, I could kill you. It will use me to kill you.' And then..."_

"Oh dear oh dear oh dear," the Doctor whispered to himself.

"What?" asked Jack. "Do you know something? What do those lines mean?"

"Well," the Doctor began, rubbing the back of his neck uneasily. "They're all things I said while we were on that ship and I was possessed by sun particles."

"But there's a deeper meaning, isn't there?" asked Jack.

The Time Lord stared at him meaningfully.

Jack smiled. "You're not going to tell me right now, are you?"

The Doctor shook his head subtly.

"Well, what should I do, then?"

"I need you to go back there tomorrow and find out what else is bouncing around in her head. I might know what's _driving _the dark visions, but not yet what's causing them. Just tell Francine you're still trying to work it out, and get as much intel as you can. I've got some repairs on the TARDIS I need to make, and Donna can go home and visit with her grandfather."

"Repairs on the TARDIS? At a time like this?" asked Jack, semi-incredulous.

"Yes, repairs on the TARDIS. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, I guess," the Captain answered, shrugging. "It's fine. I've told Francine that I'm trying to get back to the time when you and Martha first met, since she already saw you as a predator in 1599. I think if we can trace it back to whatever it is that scared her in the first place, we can put an end to it, don't you think?"

The Time Lord stared at him meaningfully again. Then said, "Yes, I do." Very simply.

_He's hiding something!_ Jack thought. _He knows what that one awful event must have been! What the hell happened on the day they met that could be so twisted in her mind as to cause a dread of that magnitude?_

But Jack didn't let on. He simply made his excuses, and his guests left. They made arrangements to meet again tomorrow at the hotel and discuss what they'd found.

* * *

Donna went home for a visit, and left the Doctor parked down the road in his blue spacecraft. He circled around the console contemplatively, thinking about the warm light beneath the panels that makes up the heart of the TARDIS. It hears and sees and senses everything that goes on inside the craft. And it was the only sentient being in the universe, other than himself and Martha, who knew. How could some random alien know enough about it to use it to bring Martha this kind of misery?

He needed to check for interfacing. Had a telepathic hacker been able to access the TARDIS' memories? That would be exceedingly bad, for all parties involved.

He opened the console, and looked inside. As he made adjustments, switched this, cranked that, communed with his ship, the memory came back to him. It was something he thought about only when it snuck up on him. Normally he pushed it away...

After the affair on New Earth, speaking with the Face of Boe, Martha had been alternately smiling and crying for about four days. He tried alternately to smile with her and to comfort her as the occasion warranted. He tried desperately to hide his true thoughts, but the longer he waited to tell her, the harder it would become. He made a resolution to tell her as soon as she woke up that day.

Except that she wasn't well that morning. It wasn't the usual, either – it was possibly something tugging at her insides, swallowing her mind, slowly killing her. It was starting. Sick or not, he HAD to say something today, and help her resolve her dilemma. Well, _their_ dilemma.

After several attempts on his part to help, she finally told him to go back to his navigator's stool and stay there until he was asked to move. He'd done as he was told – if she needed to be left alone, she needed to be left alone. Finally, sometime in late afternoon, she stumbled into the control room. He let her have his seat, and then asked, "All right?"

"Been better," she answered.

"Want some lunch?"

She stifled a gag. "Please don't say that ever again, okay?"

A long minute passed while he pretended to be navigating the ship, but really he was looking at her. Her colouring was off, and she was sweating. Vomiting and dry-heaving for 12 hours will do that.

"Martha," he said softly. "We have to discuss what's happening. I mean really discuss it."

"What do you mean?" she asked absently as she attempted to keep from falling dizzily off the stool.

"I mean," he said, coming around the console to stand in front of her. He took her by the shoulders gently, and willed her to make eye contact. Finally, she did. "This thing... it's not meant to happen."

"I know," she said, her eyes half closed. "I kind of gathered that much. I mean between the fourth and sixth hour of being violently ill."

"It might kill you," he told her.

She blinked lucidly at him. "Well. I didn't see that coming. I mean, I knew it wasn't exactly normal, but... well."

"But then it might not."

"Hasn't this ever happened before?"

"Yes, lots of times," he said. "But it's always the same, in that it could go either way."

"So how will we know?"

"The how is dodgy, because... well, it's all biology and enzymes and..."

"Hello? It's not like I'm training to be a bricklayer here," she said, a little insulted.

"Let's just say, if humanity is the primary leaning, you'll be fine," the Doctor told her, getting close and pulling her eyelids open for a closer inspection of her irises. "But if certain other characteristics are in play, then..."

"Then what?" she asked, pushing his hand away from her.

"It will overwhelm your mind and we will have to wipe it clean," he told her, sadly. "I'm so sorry, Martha."

"Wipe what clean? My mind, or the..."

"Either. Possibly both."

"God," she whispered, tears coming to her eyes. "I can't do that! Do _you_ think you could do that?"

"I would if I had to," he told her, tears coming to his eyes as well. "I'd do it if it meant saving you."

"God," she whispered again, and put her head against his chest to cry. He'd spent a lot of time holding her this way over the past few days, but this time was different...

The Doctor, coming back to himself, pushed the rest of that conversation out of his mind. There were some moments too delicate to be revisited, for fear of shattering.


	7. Chapter 7

**SEVEN**

But though he forced his mind to retreat from that particularly painful memory, he was perfectly able to dive into that of the TARDIS. No interfacing had been done to her – nothing unauthorised anyway. It was a simple malfunction that had caused the secret to leak. He knew now what had happened to Martha and why, but not how to fix it. But this is where the adrenaline began to pump. This was the bit he did best!

He resolved to wait until he received a ring from Jack to tell him what he had discovered. Enough had been said on the subject today, and he could see that Jack was exhausted. And besides, the Doctor wanted to know what else was going on in Martha's brain... what other twisted "memories" she harboured about him. He wanted to know what kind of damage control he'd have to face once she got her sanity back, because she was definitely going to remember the dark side of things, and he wanted desperately to repair their relationshipwhen the time came.

He retired to his bedroom for the night, but didn't sleep much. Visions and memories clouded his brain, problems and possible solutions, images from hundreds of years ago, the faces of other companions lost to time or space...

And in another part of the city, Jack wasn't sleeping either. It seemed that for friends of the TARDIS, the nightmares were contagious. The Doctor's cryptic looks were weighing heavily on his mind. When he had left the Jones household that afternoon, he had been _sure_ that the Doctor would never do anything to hurt Martha, that all of her visions contained wholly unjustified, malevolent versions of the Doctor because some evil alien was trying to sabotage the Doctor, or Martha, or both. He hadn't ruled out some minion of the Master. But now, the Doctor was being all creepy and secretive. What did he know, and more importantly, why wasn't he telling?

When Jack looked at the clock, frustrated and unable to fall asleep, it was four-eighteen in the morning. However, he must have drifted off at some point because when the alarm sounded at seven, he was startled awake. He estimated that he'd gotten, at the most, two and a half hours of sleep. It would have to suffice.

He showered, shaved, dressed, grabbed his intergalactic briefcase, and went out. He decided to walk to the Jones house today, and stopped at a Starbucks near Hyde Park for a pulse-poundingly strong coffee. As he walked, he thought about what he would say, and built up a story. He knew she'd fly off the handle and never allow him near Martha again if she knew he'd summoned the Doctor last night. He'd just have to fall back on his Torchwood team once more.

"Morning, Francine," he said as the exhausted woman opened the door.

"Hi Jack," she said. "Thanks for coming round again."

"No problem. Has Clive gone to work?"

"Yes, just a few minues ago. Some tea?"

"No thanks, just had some ridiculously strong coffee and I'm rarin' to go."

"Well, was your team able to find anything concerning the vision from yesterday afternoon?"

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Yes," he said. "Can we sit for a while?"

In lieu of an answer, she gestured into the living room and followed Jack in. They sat across from one another on separate sofas.

"First of all," Jack said, extracting once again his dictophone. "Listen to this."

He pressed play, and Francine listened with puzzlement to the array of foreign images that Jack had seen in Martha's mind. By the end, she had her hand over he mouth, no doubt picturing the horrible scene of Martha having turned to stone, and the Doctor screaming random threats. But she did not cry. Jack guessed that the story was too muddled to bother her, and that she was more confused than anything.

"Hm," she said simply as Jack turned off the tape. "What do you lot make of it?"

"Well, according to our search on the (_ahem_) ethernet, the images are not archetypal," he told her. "However, there was a distress signal broadcast from a different galaxy from a ship called the _S.S. Pentallian_. Apparently, a nearby sun possessed some members of the crew and tried to pull the ship into its gravitational field. The report filed later suggests that two travelers, a man matching the Doctor's description, and a woman matching Martha's, just magically showed up on the ship and helped release them from the sun's gravity. Now granted, this report gets filed in the year 5086, but our technology is more advanced than most."

"Okay," Francine said. "I think I follow. What else?"

He was happy that he was now able to tell the truth. "I came across a blog last night from a guy here in London called Larry Nightingale. He writes of a DVD Easter Egg. Do you mind if I look at your DVDs for a sec?"

"No, go right ahead," Francine said. She watched in wonder as Jack searched through her collection.

"Okay, here we go," Jack said, extracting a little-known art house film. He put the disc in, turned on the television, and found the old 1969 film of the Doctor speaking his half of a conversation with Sally Sparrow.

When Francine saw his face upon the screen, she was shocked. "What is this, Jack?" How is that on my DVD?"

"It's on seventeen DVDs currently in circulation. It's a long story. Just watch."

"This is madness," she exhaled. But when Martha's face came into the picture, she gasped. "Oh my God!" Now she was on the edge of tears. It had been so long since she'd truly heard Martha's voice, she wasn't sure whether to weep or rejoice.

On the screen, the Doctor finished his explanation of the weeping angels, and issued his stern warning, _don't blink_. Once he finished, Francine was up to speed. "Her experiences are mixing in her mind," she said.

He switched off the television and DVD player. "Exactly," he told her, sitting down.

"So what does that tell us?" she asked.

"Not much," he admitted. "We still don't know why this is happening, or why the Doctor is in her visions as a dark figure. But what we do know is that she is still anchored, on some level, to reality. That's useful because if we can pinpoint the source of the _memory_, then we might be able to use the space-time coordinates to get rid of the _vision_." He was careful to make the distiction between memory and vision, attempting once again to convince Francine (and himself) that what actually happened is totally different from what's going on right now in Martha's mind.

"So what's the next step?"

"I'd like to spend more time with her, see what else is in there. Can I do that?"

"She's upstairs where you left her," Francine sighed.

* * *

Today, she was wearing a turquoise tee-shirt that appeared to have come from a fundraiser walkathon some years ago. Jack marveled at how lovely a colour it was for her. In another time, another place and under different circumstances, this could have been a striking turquoise ball-gown, as dazzling as Martha herself. In any case, it was different from what she had worn yesterday, and he was reminded of the love and caring that Martha was receiving, and it made him feel slightly better, in a sad sort of way.

Martha's vision this morning was mild in comparison. Obviously, he wasn't able to make any sense of it, but in it, the Doctor did nothing more than ignore her for the better part of it. She scrambled for his attention as he flaunted his love for someone called Joan, and then tossed Martha to the alien adversary as bait. And then he seemed to murder a school teacher, but that was as bad as it got.

Jack realised at some point that if he kept on this way, just stumbling by and watching whatever horror story Martha's brain happened to be fixated upon at the moment, he might never get to the bottom of it. He needed to provoke her, cause her to re-live whatever had caused her fear of the Doctor, and he thought he had a good solution. Well, at least a solution that would be less inflammatory than the alternative.

He picked Martha up and brought her downstairs. She weighed almost nothing. He knew her family at this point was only feeding her to keep her alive, because she had had a beautiful, robust body before. Now he could feel that she was skin and bones.

He put her in a chair in the living room, facing the television. Francine was surprised to see this, but went along with it. She was very, very reluctant to do ask Jack asked, but he explained his reasoning, and she relented. Besides, she'd rather tie her own daughter to a chair than watch someone else do it.

While Francine secured her daughter's wrists, ankles and torso, Jack prepared the DVD Easter Egg. The violence with which Martha reacted to the Doctor's grainy image on the screen made Francine's composure crumble. She stood in the doorway and sobbed, "My baby, my baby." The chair quaked and threatened to give way as Martha's body twisted and she screamed in terror. The track ran for no more than one minute before Jack paused it, and took his place in front of Martha, and fitted them both with the Consciousness Visor. And there it was, in all of its horrible glory: the lurid, twisted half-memory which Martha harboured of her first night with the Doctor... and, he suspected, another, unrelated journey. He'd have to consult the Time Lord himself about that later on.

When he retreated from the vision, Martha was still squirming and twitching, and her eyes were rolled back. He had come prepared with a mild sedative, and wasted no time sticking it into her arm. Mercifully, she went to sleep, and he untied her and laid her down on the sofa. He covered her with a blanket, feeling that a lucid Martha would not be happy to be showing off her knickers in such a way.

He had also come prepared with a brand-new mini-cassette for his dictophone, and once again recorded every detail as he had seen it. He suggested that Francine leave the room, and she complied, trusting that Jack knew when she wasn't ready or able to hear something.

As he walked down the front stairs, he placed a call to Martha Jones' old mobile. When he arrived at the hotel, the Doctor was already there, leaning against the doorjamb.

"How was your day?" asked the Doctor.

Jack exhaled heavily. "I've had better."


	8. Chapter 8

_THIS CHAPTER INVOKES A THIRD DOCTOR STORY FROM THE 70'S CALLED THE THREE DOCTORS._

**EIGHT**

"Did you find out anything?" asked Jack, as they began to climb the stairs together.

"I checked the TARDIS for unauthorised interfacing, because I thought..."

Jack waited. "You thought?"

The Doctor stopped in the middle of a set of stairs. He stared at Jack contemplatively. He took a breath. "There's this thing... this secret that only I, Martha and the TARDIS know about. And it's starting to crop up in her visions."

"Uh, it is?"

"Yes. I can see it because I know about it. You don't recognise it because it's totally foreign to you. But trust me, it's there, loud and clear. And I think it's part of what's causing her agony. I checked the TARDIS for interfacing because I thought that someone must have hacked in, found out the secret and then used it to torture Martha."

"Doctor, what the hell is this?" Jack asked sternly, exasperatedly. He was flying relatively blind trying to help Francine and her family, and now he was starting to get royally pissed off that the Doctor would tell him nothing.

The Doctor sighed again. "I can't tell you right now Jack. That's for Martha herself to do, if she wishes. But will you please let me finish?"

"Fine, finish." The two men continued their loud tromping trek up the stairs.

"What I discovered was that it wasn't some random alien that did this to Martha. It was the TARDIS!"

"What?" Jack cried out, stopping dead again, this time at the top of a set of stairs.

"It was the TARDIS. It was a malfunction – totally an accident."

Jack gaped for a few moments. "Holy crap," were the words that finally came out.

"Yeah."

"How is that even possible?"

They continued to climb.

"Well... years and years and _years_ ago, there was this bloke called Omega. A Time Lord, very powerful, very talented, very well-respected. A _major_ drama freak, but that's neither here nor there. But while he was trying to find energy for us to travel through time, he caused a supernova to explode and it swallowed him up and accidentally turned him into anti-matter. He existed for a while in an anti-matter universe."

"Okay," Jack said, giving the Doctor a strange look and attempting to open his hotel room door.

"Because he had been _matter_, and now by some fluke had become _anti-matter_, it brought out a sort of alter-ego. He called it _The Dark Side of My Mind_," the Doctor told Jack, imitating Omega's voice as he related this last bit. "And it was tangible when called forth, even as Omega himself became less and less tangible. When I came face-to-face with Omega, he demanded that I have a punch-up with _The Dark Side of His Mind_, so I did. I actually had a fist-fight with an aspect of his consciousness."

"What?" Jack asked, ushering the Doctor inside, and switching on the light. The two men stood just inside the door, talking. Well, one was talking, the other was trying his best to keep up.

"I know, mad, eh? Anyway, what the Time Lords discovered eventually was that all Time Lords, and indeed the TARDISes who love them, have that side. It's literally the _opposite_ of everything the Time Lord is, and in situations where the outer ego is unable to perform, shall we say, then the Dark Side becomes tangible and viable," the Doctor explained. "This is why it's not good for Time Lords to stew in their own juices for too long."

"So, let me get this straight," Jack said, steadying himself against the wall. "Something caused the TARDIS to malfunction, it zeroed in on Martha, and brought forth the Doctor from Bizarro world."

"No! The TARDIS' outer ego, its good side, was expended somehow, which brought out the Dark Side of the TARDIS. It zeroed in on Martha because she is part of its consciousness now, and it was looking for its other half, for solace, for something _good._ It attacked her, for lack of a better word, healed itself, and left a huge rip in her mind. The imprint of its own Dark Side, I suppose, is what's in her now."

"So how do we reverse it? Can't we just have the TARDIS do the same thing to her again, only this time with the good side?"

"No, no, no," the Doctor said emphatically. "Remember when Rose absorbed the time vortex? Well, we run the risk of that happening to Martha if we attempted something like that. No, I've got to find another way. I just haven't worked that bit out yet."

"Whoa," Jack sighed, sinking further into the wall. He contemplated for a few seconds. Then he asked, "But why didn't it attack you? Seems like you'd be the logical choice for its other half."

"I don't know," the Doctor said, genuinely confused. "I must have been asleep or away or something. I do spend lots of time away from the TARDIS you know."

"Okay, but this still doesn't explain the Bizarro Doctor in Martha's visions," said Jack. "If it's not the Dark Side of your Time Lord mind that's run amok in there, then why the hell does she think you're a sadistic monster?"

The Doctor sighed again. "I'm afraid it wouldn't be sporting if I told you."

"The secret?"

"The secret."

"What if I told you I might know the secret?"

"I would ask you to tell me what you know."

"I can do better than that. I can show you."

The Doctor's eyebrows went up. "You can show me?"

"Well, I can't show you exactly, but I can show you the nightmare version."

"Please explain."

"As I was walking back here, I had a brilliant thought," Jack told the Doctor as he finally properly entered the room and tossed his coat onto the desk.

"I'll let lie there the comment about how unlikely that is, and skip straight to asking what it was."

"Sit down," Jack commanded, gesturing toward the bed.

The Doctor sat down, and Jack pulled up a chair facing him. He hauled the briefcase out from under the nightstand and began to fit the parts together.

"Hunh," the Doctor commented on the apparatus. "You stole that? You know that that would be punishable by death in the Nevolish galaxy?"

"Well, there's one more reason not to go back there, then," Captain Jack answered with a crooked smile. The last click fell into place, and he said, "I'm going to put the receiver on you."

"Okay," the Doctor said, uncomfortably letting Jack fit him with goggles and ear pieces.

"I will transmit as we listen to the tape. I'll try to recall visually what I saw in Martha's mind, and link it up to you. I want you to _see_, Doctor."

The Doctor practically growled the words, "Well, here we go, then."


	9. Chapter 9

_I KNOW I'VE SAID THIS BEFORE, BUT BE WARNED. DARK, DARK, DARK. PREPARE FOR YOUR OWN NIGHTMARES OF THE DOCTOR._

**NINE**

A squeaky blonde was seated among the Jones clan like a major fish out of water. The demure family was being uprooted by this sequin-wearing, fake-tanning, hair-bleaching menace. Martha saw her as a lizard, as a flesh-devouring thing, but she'd never have admitted that to anyone else.

The whole city was talking about the mad story of the hospital on the moon. Leo's 21st was being ruined, overshadowed by the day's events, and it was Annalise, the blonde flesh monster, who wouldn't shut up about it.

Suddenly, Annalise was on her feet, pointing straight at Martha. Angrily, she screeched, "You're a liar! You're a filthy liar! It's impossible – you can't have been on the moon."

And then she wasn't quite Annalise anymore, That is to say, her demeanour changed to something decidedly more stiff, and the annoying squeak morphed into something else. A bright, sunny voice with an American accent came out of her, and with the bright, insincere timbre of a news broadcaster, she said to Martha, "Salutations! They were looking for non-humans. A non-human died, and it's all your fault. This is Sally Calypso, signing off. Missing you already!"

Soon, her family was in shambles, and spilling out into the street. Her mother and Annalise were screaming at each other, and her father was attempting to run interference. Everyone chased one another down the road... and then the Doctor was there. She saw him at the end of the street, leaning against a brick wall, smirking that smirk. Her family wholly distracted, she followed the Doctor around the corner. And there she saw the handsome man and his TARDIS. He was still smirking, and she smiled.

"I went to the moon today," she said.

"Bit more peaceful than down here," he observed.

"You never told me who you are," she reminded him, walking towards him.

"The Doctor."

"But what sort of species?" she wanted to know. "Not every day I get to ask that..."

"I'm a Time Lord," he said, importantly.

"Right! Not pompous at all, then."

"I just thought, since you saved my life, and I've got a brand new sonic screwdriver that needs road testing, you might fancy a trip."

"What, into space?"

"Well..." he said to her, in lieu of a _yes_.

She began to make excuses (albeit, valid ones) about why she couldn't. He insisted that he was able to travel in time as well. She blinked, and suddenly saw the booming metropolis of a futuristic city behind him. Spires reaching for the sky, cars flying about, new and old hope on the endless horizon. And then it was gone. It was enough to convice her. Blimey – he was a time traveler!

It was all very kitsch and first-date show-off stuff, but he was irresistible. She'd known all along she'd say yes – she just didn't want to seem to eager.

"Your spaceship's made of wood," she said cynically. "And there's not much room, we'd be a bit intimate."

This seemed to spark something in him. With a knowing grin, he pushed open the door and told her to take a look. She stepped inside and her jaw dropped. Her utter awe seemed to spark something further.

She cried out, "It's huge! It's wood! It's bigger on the inside!" Again she did not see the spark, but it was there.

They approached the console, and circled round it together as the Doctor got the vessel ready for disapparation. She followed him, and they talked. He mentioned Rose. His face was forlorn and she could tell that it cut deeply even to think about her. And he made it perfectly, starkly clear that Martha was not to replace her. She insisted that she wouldn't presume. "For the record, I'm not remotely interested," she told him.

After babbling a bit about the gadgetry on the console, he asked her, "Ready?"

"No," she said smiling.

"Off we go!"

The TARDIS bumped and crashed as it traveled.

And then suddenly it stopped. He took his hands away from the console and looked at her with smouldering eyes.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Showing off. Look outside."

She went to the wooden door and peered out into space. Again, her jaw dropped. She gasped with awe. She was back in space again, only this time, nothing she saw was recoginsable. No moon, no Earth – just swirling clouds of gas and light. The whole universe seemed to glow, and she tried to take it all in.

Suddenly the Doctor was behind her. He put a hand on the door above hers and the other arm went around her waist. She didn't mind. In fact, she felt warm inside.

"Where are we?" she seemed to moan. "It's beautiful."

"We're at the formation of the planet Jupiter," he told her. "The surface of the planet never does become solid enough to support life. See how slowly those gases are swirling? Well that's half the speed of normal gases at this stage of gravitationalising. This solar system will explode back out again before Jupiter has a chance to pull itself together." As he said this, he bent his head forward and smelled her. She was musky, womanly and delicious.

Martha chuckled at his comment. "Mum tells us the same thing about my brother."

"Martha," he gasped in her ear. He took in her scent again, and suddenly she felt the hardness pressed against her back. As quickly as the euphoria had set in, it left her. _That_ was a bit much! Who did he think he was, bringing her up here for a shag? He promised her time travel, an adventure. Instead he just wanted a quick roll and then goodbye. Cheeky! She wriggled free of him and stalked back up to the console. She stood at the top of the ramp with her arms crossed.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I told you. Showing off," he said again. He turned and shut the door, and made sure that she saw him lock it. "Are you impressed?" He began to walk slowly toward her, and a voracious look came over his face.

"No, I'm not impressed. Now I've been on one trip and I want to go back," she demanded, stomping over to the navigator's chair. "Take me home right now."

He didn't say anything, did not respond to her angry expression, did not increase his slow pace. He simply took his time in getting to her, and planted himself in front of her. He reached over to her and pulled some type of tape out from behind her ear.

"I can't believe you're wearing _this_, considering what's about to happen," he scolded. He showed her the tape. It was a square patch that said _honesty._

He pulled something from his jacket pocket, and said, "This is more like it." It was a similar patch that said _paralysis._

Suddenly she felt herself being dragged.

"I'm sorry!" he was saying as he muscled her by the neck, across the room. "I'm so sorry. I can help! I can help you!"

"Let me go!" she screamed.

"I'm sorry," he continued to insist, as she continued to scream and plead to be let go.

"I'm so gonna kill you!" she insisted, fighting him, she knew, in vain. "I'm gonna kill you myself!"

And then she was on the floor, she was staring at the ceiling of the TARDIS and the Doctor was on top of her, straddling her hips. He was aroused, she was screaming.

He shoved her head to one side, and she saw a flash of the paralysis patch. "Don't you dare!" she screeched in fear. "Don't put that near me!"

"It's just paralysis, it won't hurt you," he told her, as he pressed it against her neck.

Immediately, the effects set in. She couldn't move or speak or scream or cry, but her senses were in order. She could clearly see the flash of greed on his face as her body went limp and pliant. She could also clearly hear the zip of his dapper pin-striped trousers coming down and see his tumescent member exposed. She could the cold as he peeled her jeans off and she felt the pain as he pushed her arms over her head and held her down, pressing her flesh into the metal floor of the TARDIS. She was totally conscious of him forcing her legs apart and pushing himself inside her and grunting obscenely, and of when he pushed inside again... and again... harder each time.

Inside, she was screaming. Inside, she was fighting. Outside, her body was under the most hideous of assaults, and there was nothing she could do about it. Not even close her eyes. She was forced to see the hunger and violence in his eyes, forced to look her attacker in the face as he took everything from her. He slammed in and out with abandon, indescriminately, drooling, grunting, whispering obscenities, with utterly no concern. He had treated the malevolent aliens on the moon with more respect and consideration! She was humiliated, cold, alone and trapped inside her own body. She begged silently for an end to this – she just wanted it to end.

"Children of the motorway," he growled in her ear. "Children of time..."

For a split second, a woman stood over them, watching. _Cheen_, that was her name. "Children of the motorway," Cheen said, never smiling, and then disappearing.

And then Martha's body betrayed her somehow. Inexplicably, and much to her horrifying dismay, her body yielded a long, rippling orgasm. She was disgusted and confused – how could her own body do that to her? The pulsing inside spurned the Doctor to greater depths of lasciviousness, and suddenly his movements were desperate and brisk. He pushed faster and faster and faster until he clearly grunted the word "Rose," and then was finished, spent and emptied inside her. Somehow, that one word seemed, in that moment, worse than the whole experience combined. If he had said anything else, like "melon," or "meadowlark," she might have survived. But his _Rose_ caused something to snap within her.

Then he caught his breath and stood up, zipped his trousers and left her lying there, as though she had only been some kind of receptacle. Next stop: 1599. Shakespeare. She'd get help there.

Shortly, she regained her ability to move, and to test it, she turned her head to one side. She could see the apparition of a face, which seemed to be behind glass. It seemed to be speaking, imparting a great wisdom. It seemed to have all universes and all time within its mind. And it said to her, "You are not alone."


	10. Chapter 10

**TEN**

When Jack unstrapped the apparatus and looked up, the Doctor's face was streaked with tears. Mildly embarraseed, the Time Lord buried his face in his hands. With a great gasp, he let out a long sob. Jack just watched him with wonder. He had _never _seen the Doctor so devastated before. He wondered if the Doctor had ever _been_ this devastated before, even with all he's seen and lost.

When he was able, the Doctor got up and looked out the window. He opened it and leaned out for some fresh air. Jack poured them each a drink, and the two of them downed the warm liquid without a word. Their silence seemed to mark a mutual understanding. Nothing had changed, except within Martha's mind.

After a long, long silence, Jack asked the most benign quetsion he could think of, concerning the vision. "Is she mixing up two different events again?"

The Doctor swallowed hard, still fearing that any attempt to speak would be met with another deep sob. He hesitated and said, "Yes. The emotion patches are from a place called New Earth, which was our second real trip together. We didn't see _paralysis_, but Martha was kidnapped and doused with a _sleep_ patch."

"She was kidnapped?" Jack asked.

A nod as the Doctor poured himself a second shot of bourbon.

"Did the kidnappers apologise as they were dragging her away?"

Another nod.

"Who are the children of the motorway?"

"New Earth. Children who are born in these vans that never seemed to leave the motorway," the Doctor said. In his mind, he was turning over the phrase _Children of Time._

"And the 'you are not alone' bit?"

"That was The Face of..." he looked at Jack, and thought better of his words. "He's a kind of prophet who I've seen in the far future. Like five billion years in the future. We were there when he died, and those were his final words, meant for me. He was trying to warn me that the Master was still alive."

"Did Martha think he meant those words for her?"

"I don't think so, but he did know..."

"He did know what?"

The Doctor said, "Remember when I told you that only I, Martha and the TARDIS knew the secret?"

"Yeah."

"Well," said the Time Lord, drilling holes into his friend's eyes with his own. "Someone else knew too. It just didn't click until right now."

The two of them stared, and then continued to drink their sips of bourbon in peace for a bit.

Finally, the Doctor sat back down on the bed, and told Jack, "Have a seat. Put on the receiver. I'll show you what really happened."

* * *

A day and a half had passed, and he'd been thinking about Martha Jones, the lovely, brilliant med student from Royal Hope hospital, the whole time. After her bravery on the moon, he hadn't been able to stop. She was plucky and clever, enthusiastic and idyllically beautiful. China Doll beautiful. And he had kissed her, just kissed her without a second thought. It had honestly been in order to create a genetic transfer, and to confuse the Judoon's machinery, but blimey, it had been difficult to walk away from that kiss. He'd meant just to give her a little peck, that would have sufficed. But once he started, it was like he was falling and couldn't stop. Finally, he'd torn himself away and quickly run from her, out of the line of fire, and out of the range of her charms. If he had lingered even for a second, he would have been caught, and forced to repeat the experience.

His loneliness since Rose had been pretty tough to take, but he'd fallen into a deep depression after meeting Donna Noble because she'd made him realise what he could turn into if he let himself. He supposed his Dark Side was closer to the surface than he'd like to admit. Donna had been absolutely right, though – he needed someone. Someone to stop him, someone to spur him on, someone to look at him adoringly and say, "What do we do next?"

Obviously, Martha Jones could be that someone. When he'd been reviving her after carrying her out from the MRI room, after the hospital had been transported back to Earth, he'd asked her a few routine questions to check for brain damage. In the course of this, he'd asked about her family, and she mentioned that tonight was her brother's 21st, and they would all be at the Market Tavern to celebrate. He decided to throw the TARDIS into reverse by a day or so.

He parked it in a back alley of the neighborhood, and wandered down toward the pub. He heard a little spat between two women and one man, including the accusation of "You stole my husband!"

Before long, Martha's unmistakable voice rang out, "Mum, I don't mind, just leave it!"

He was ashamed of himself at how delighted he was to hear her family making her insane... that just meant it would be easier to convince her to go with him. And as the Jones family fanned itself out into the street, he made sure she saw him, coolly leaning against the wall at the end of the block. He slipped cryptically away, and she followed.

This conversation happened very much the way Martha had remembered it, even with her mind all atwist. She accused him of being pompous. He invited her to come along, and she made excuses. Except, of course, that New Earth didn't just appear behind his head in order to convince her that his time-traveling claims were real. Rather, he popped back to the beginning of the day, and took his tie off in front of her while she walked to work.

She made some innuendo about the TARDIS being cramped, and how _intimate_ they would be. Her disbelief and awe had sparked something in him, which she initially failed to see. Then he got cold feet, made clear that she would not be replacing his former companion and that it would only be one trip.

Then she mentioned the kiss. Obviously, it had been on her mind as well. Defensively, he insisted, "_That_ was a genetic transfer."

Then she teased him about flying across the universe to ask her out, and then told him she wasn't interested in him. He could tell even then that she was lying, and when he said, "Good," he didn't mean it.

"Off we go!"

As she remembered, the TARDIS bumped and crashed as it traveled. And then suddenly it stopped. He took his hands away from the console and looked at her meaningfully.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Showing off. Look outside."

She went to the wooden door and peered out into space. Again, her jaw dropped. She gasped with awe. She didn't say anything, and he guessed that she was wondering where the moon and Earth were, and what time frame they were in. He literally _was_ showing off for her, hoping that it would make her want to stay, hoping that it would make him seem hopelessly attractive and exciting.

He came up behind her, and put a hand on the door above hers and the other arm went around her waist. She didn't seem to mind. In fact, if he wasn't mistaken, he felt her lean into the embrace a bit. He was way out on a limb here, but he couldn't help but want to touch her. It had been so long since he'd had someone around that he could just touch...

"Where are we?" she seemed to moan. "It's beautiful."

"We're at the formation of the planet Jupiter," he told her. "The surface of the planet never does become solid enough to support life. See how slowly those gases are swirling? Well that's half the speed of normal gases at this stage of gravitationalising. This solar system will explode back out again before Jupiter has a chance to pull itself together." As he said this, he bent his head forward and smelled her. She was musky, womanly and delicious.

Martha chuckled at his comment. "Mum tells us the same thing about my brother."

"Martha," he whispered in her ear. He took in her scent again, and suddenly, embarrassingly, he knew he was hard, and she must know it too. She must be able to feel it in the small of her back. And they just met! Granted, there was something undeniable here, and they had been through an intense, life-altering experience this afternoon, but for him to be this presumptuous this soon... he dared not move or speak further.

Slowly, she slipped from his grip, and as she walked past him, she gave him a flash of invitation with her beautiful eyes. She stood at the top of the ramp with her arms crossed.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, smiling seductively.

"I told you. Showing off," he said again. He turned and shut the door, and turned the lock. "Are you impressed?" He began to walk slowly toward her, as a dreamy expression came over his face.

"No," she lied, and took herself over to the navigator's stool and fixed herself on it.

He didn't say anything, did not increase his slow pace. He simply took his time in getting to her, and planted himself in front of her. He reached over and took her with both hands by the cheeks and neck. He kissed her like before, only longer, deeper. She was much less surprised this time, and was actually in a presence of mind to return the kiss.

For a long time, they remained this way, their lips dancing together, and a kind of odd relief washing over both of them. The Doctor was euphoric – it had been ages since he'd had this kind of rapport with anyone. Martha was just as caught in the moment, but much less fatalistic about the whole thing. She just knew what she wanted, and he was right there with his mouth on hers.

Suddenly she was off the seat. She was wrapped around him as he stood, and he was inching toward a part of the open floor, carrying her to a new kind of life, a new kind of love.

In lieu of asking for approval, he pulled away from the kiss and looked askance at her eyes. Her eyes gave their tacit consent, and so much more.

And then she was on the floor, she was staring at the ceiling of the TARDIS and the Doctor was on top of her, straddling her hips. He was aroused, she was as well.

He kissed her hard, pushed his entire body down against hers, and she moaned. He moved his mouth to her neck and shoulders, nearly completely exposed, and he planted kisses all over her bare flesh. She squirmed and melted beneath him, and she could feel him hardening.

He sat up again, and warned one more time, "I could stop."

"Don't you dare!" she insisted.

His face registered a kind of greed, and she loved it, reveled in it. She reached up and undid his zip, and took out the long, solid member. She fondled it for a few seconds, and then he shifted positions just enough to peel her jeans off. She put her arms over her head and laid out in front of him, anticipating his next electric touch. He knelt between her legs, rested his hands on her forearms and pushed himself inside of her with a delicious moan, and she responded in kind. He pulled back, and drove it back in again, this time harder. With every stroke, he pushed a bit harder, and beautiful, musical moans escaped her lips each time.

Their eyes met and lingered. She wanted this moment never to end. She was suspended in space, and her body was on fire. She was relishing each stroke, each in-and-out motion of the Doctor's body, each little moan he gave, each finger digging into her arm. He moved faster and faster, never losing his smoothness, never missing a chance to penetrate her with his eyes each time his forward thrust hit her at her core.

And then Martha's body gave her its greatest gift. It slid languidly into orgasm, allowing her a delicious moment to tremble and gasp, and then a beautiful feeling of peace. The pulsing inside spurned the Doctor to greater heights, and suddenly his movements were more desperate, more urgent. He pushed faster and faster and faster, and Martha anticipated this, his optimum moment. Then the word "Rose," very clearly formed upon his lips, and he spasmed, and then was finished, spent and emptied inside her.

He rolled to the side, and never leaving each others' arms, they both recovered. When the panting died down, the euphoria retreated and reality came back, they finally looked at each other.

"I'm sorry," he said, smiling sideways. "I really didn't just bring you up here for a shag."

"I know," she answered, smiling back. "And I didn't just come in here for one. But it's what we got."

A long silence passed between them, and finally, Martha asked, "Who was she?"

He broke eye contact, and ashamedly apologised for letting her name slip out.

Martha listened as he talked about how he'd loved and lost Rose, and then promised that he would never say her name again in a moment like that. To Martha, it was more than an empty promise – it meant that there would be more moments like these.

Next stop, 1599. Shakespeare. A lot to be gained there.

"Now," he asked her, standing up, putting himself back together. "Do you fancy a _proper trip_?"

He helped her up off the floor, and she wiggled back into her jeans.


	11. Chapter 11

**ELEVEN**

The two friends each removed their visors. For a long moment, Jack stared at the Doctor in disbelief.

"The first trip out?" he asked, smiling.

"Yeah," the Doctor said, unamused. "I guess I was lonely. Lonely and... and that other thing."

"I'm not blaming or judging," Jack assured him. "I'm just surprised. Did it continue, this _arrangement_?"

"You mean did we continue to have a sexual relationship?"

"Yeah, that's what I mean."

"Yes, we did," the Doctor said, without any irony, boasting or joy whatsoever. Right now, he just seemed forlorn. "In the beginning, it was just about every day, but only on the TARDIS. As time went on... well..."

"Familiarity. I get it," Jack chimed in. "Well, no wonder she sees you as a predator now. If her mind is all twisted up and looking at everything through black-colored glasses, then of course your first sexual encounter with her would translate as rape."

But he was still way off. "It wasn't familiarity that stopped it, Jack."

That old familiar meaningful stare was back, and Jack knew then that the Doctor's lustful adventures with Martha was not _the secret_. Something else was still hanging in the air, causing the Doctor to appear in Martha's memories as a predator, and whatever it was, it appears to have stopped their sexual relationship in its tracks.

"Doctor," Jack asked, seriously. "There's a couple things I gotta know."

The Doctor sat back on the bed, leaning on his hands. "Shoot."

Jack wasn't sure how to breach this subject, so he just came out and said it. "Did you and Rose...?"

The Doctor was pensive, and barely moved his lips as he said, "No. We just never went there. Different life, different circumstances, I suppose. Hard to explain."

"And... do you love Martha?"

The Doctor leaned forward once again and seemed to study his shoes. He took a long time to think about this one, or so it seemed to Jack. Really, he knew the answer, he just wasn't sure if he was ready to divulge that information. Ultimately, he decided the secrets and lies as they lay at his disposal had to end. He was tired of it, and he knew Jack was too. So he said, "Yes. Yes I do."

Jack was on his feet. "God, I never would have guessed! I mean, I knew she was hopelessly in love with you, but I didn't think you'd even noticed her existence," Jack said, knocking back another drink.

The Doctor looked at Jack with an expression that seemed to say, _please_. "How could I not?" he asked.

"Well, that's kind of what I'd been thinking. I was wondering if you were blind or something."

The two of them experienced yet another long silence.

Then Jack said, "You really aren't going to tell me?"

The Doctor smiled lazily. "I've told you – it's for Martha to say. If she wants you to know, then so be it."

* * *

Hours later, back inside the blue box, the lonley Time Lord found himself circling, once again, slowly around the console. He had a problem at hand, that was good. He had someone to save, that was even better. This was when he did his best work! And he felt strangely liberated by having shown Jack what had happened between himself and Martha when they first met, and also by having seen Martha's nightmare version of it. It answered a lot of questions for him. It confirmed some of his worst fears, but at least now he knew.

He set his mind to the task at hand. "What do we know?" he asked the TARDIS. "We know that it was _your_ Dark Side that's afflicted Martha, and that only _your_ Outer Side will reverse the effects. But we also know that your Outer Side turned Rose into a telekinetic molecule-melter with God-like powers and a heart that was a ticking time-bomb. And then it killed me."

The TARDIS groaned a bit. "Oh, now, don't be that way," he told her. "Don't start feeling sorry for yourself. We both know it wasn't your fault and that I don't blame you in the least. Now, help me think."

The Doctor thought back to when he and Jack first parted ways, just before he'd regenerated for the tenth time. What were the details? What had happened? He wished he had seen what Rose had done to absorb the vortex as she had, so that he would know perhaps how to dose Martha _just a little_.

"We know that a kiss transfers the energy," he mumbled, thinking back. "We know that a healthy dose could potentially cause a human being to live for billions of years. Doubtless there's still some residual energy left in Rose. Too bad she's not here..." he thought. It was the first time in a long time he'd had _that _thought.

He guessed that that showed growth.

And then, as these things do, it hit him. With an "A-ha!" he raced around to the main controls, and disapparated from where he was parked in Chiswick and re-apparated in Prince's Square. He pulled Martha's mobile out of his coat pocket once again and dialed Jack's number. Apparently, the Captain had already gone to sleep, because his "Hello" was groggy and annoyed.

"I'm across the street. You've got to come down."

"What? Why?"

"Because! I've found the cure! And I'm going to need your help."

There was a long pause. Then, "Fine. I'll be there in a second."

Within a minute, Jack was kicking the TARDIS door open and striding in, wearing blue pajama bottoms and a white tee-shirt. His hair looked very unruly, but the Doctor thought it suited him. He stomped up the ramp and crossed his arms. Emphatically, he said "You're _The Doctor_, for crying out loud. You can't solve a 'negative energy stole my friend's mind' problem on your own?"

"Oh, that I can solve. What I need you for is way more delicate than that."

"You know, normally, I'd be intrigued," Jack said, rubbing his eyes. "But I've had a wicked hard day and I just want to go back to bed. What do you need me to do?"

"I need you to convince Francine to let me into the house so I can kiss Martha."

Jack held his breath for a moment, waiting for a punch line. Then he exhaled harshly and said, "Doctor, there's a time and a place."

"Oh, for God's sake!"

"Well, what do you want from me? That's completely insane! She's never going to let you near Martha again!"

"I know. That's where you come in. You're really good with people, Jack, as much as I hate to admit it. Just convince her somehow!"

Jack was awake now. "I assume that this is for some other reason than you're just lonely."

The Doctor didn't justify the comment with a response. Instead, he came toward Jack and stood uncomfortably close. "Do you remember when Rose looked into the heart of the TARDIS and absorbed its energy?"

"Uh, you're talking to the marathon man here. How could I forget?"

"Well, it nearly killed her. So I kissed her and absorbed the energy myself, so it killed me instead. That's why I look like this now," the Doctor explained.

"Okay. With you so far."

"That's the same kind of energy that's going to cure Martha, but if she absorbs it one hundred per cent, it will kill one of us."

"Wait, can't she just absorb it enough to cure her, and then I could take it on. It won't kill me," Jack suggested, his face gleaming with his good idea.

"Not a bad idea Jack," the Doctor told him. "But you're already destined to live for five billion years. Do you want to extend that warranty?"

"I'm destined to do _what_?"

The Doctor had slipped. He'd never meant for Jack to know about that. Well, not yet at least. He decided just to move on.

"But I was thinking, this kind of energy takes years to dissipate. Rose probably still has some residual in her system... and that means so would I! Residual energy wouldn't be enough to kill her, or even make her sick. It would be just enough to overpower the influence of the Dark Side of the TARDIS and bring her back to normal."

"You'd still have it in your system, even after a regeneration?" Jack asked.

"Oh yes," the Doctor said, totally sure of himself. "Especially since it's the same energy that fuels a regeneration. Come to think of it, it's probably in me all the time."

"Then why didn't it have any effect on Martha every time you guys kissed... which was a lot, right?"

"Yes, but she was always being dosed with bursts of good energy from the TARDIS back then. It's like when you build up a tolerance to alcohol," the Time Lord explained excitedly.

"Okay, I'll try to convince Francine, but don't expect miracles."

"I never do."

"Just one thing: why won't it make _you_ live for five billion years?"

"It might. But probably not. Time Lord thing – totally different from humans, despite outside appearances. Besides, I can regenerate. No danger of me morphing into a giant face..."


	12. Chapter 12

**TWELVE**

"Good morning, Francine," Jack said. He held up the shopping bag he was carrying. "I brought breakfast."

"Oh, that was nice of you," she said, stepping aside to let him in.

They settled in at the breakfast counter. Jack extracted two small bowls of fruit and yogurt, and two bagels slathered with cream cheese. Francine poured the tea, and they ate together. Jack asked about Tish and Leo, realising that he hadn't even acknowledged the fact that Francine has other children since this fiasco began. She talked happily about them, how Tish's jobs with Lazarus and Saxon, in spit of their more dire consequences, had gotten her a good job doing PR for a pharmaceuticals company. And Leo was (again) thinking of going back to school. This time to be a refrigerator repair man.

When they finished, Francine was rinsing out their cups, and she asked, "Jack, why wouldn't you tell me what you saw yesterday?"

"You mean after we showed Martha the DVD?"

"Yes."

"Because I had to mull it over," he said. "If I had presented the information to you at the time, it would have come out sounding too emotional and you would have freaked." The real reason was that he had to consult with the Doctor, but he wasn't going to tell her that... just yet.

"So can you tell me now?"

"Yes. I saw a vision of the Doctor assaulting her. Hideously," Jack said. He was tiptoeing, trying not to use the R word. "Like, in the way that only a man can assault a woman."

Francine was silent, staring at the floor.

"Do you understand?" he asked her.

She inhaled, and then with a trembling voice, she said, "Yes."

"Francine," he said carefully. "Do not get worked up over this. I've told you before: it's not real. The visions are just visions, not memories. Something is causing her to see the Doctor as a predator, but I don't know what that is yet."

"How can you be sure, Jack? Other than your gut feeling that your _friend_ is one of the good guys, what proof do you have that he wouldn't order my daughter beaten? Or that he wouldn't murder a schoolteacher or melt someone's flesh with his brain ray? What _proof_ do you have, Jack, that he didn't rape my daughter?"

He chose his words very carefully. He knew that today was the day when he would come clean and let Francine know that he'd been involving the Doctor in the investigation, but he hadn't expected the moment of truth to come so soon.

Slowly, he said, "My proof is... I've seen into the Doctor's mind as well."

"Excuse me?" she asked, angrily folding her arms across her chest. "When was this, exactly?"

"Last night," he confessed.

She stared at him with her mouth open. She looked wounded, as though Jack had been keeping the secrets of the universe from her for millennia.

"You asked for _his _help?" she whispered.

"I had to! I had to get to the source of the problem, Francine, and clearly there's some problem surrounding the Doctor! And not only that... no one, and I mean no one, in this universe is better than he is at figuring out what went wrong in cases like this," he told her. He was near ranting now. "I thought it would be better to get it done quickly, rather than waste time trying to work it out on my own. The Doctor is the quickest way to an answer."

"So all that talk about 'your team' was just a lie?" she yelled.

"Yes," he admitted. "I didn't want to tell you yet that he was the one helping me."

Nonplussed, she shifted her weight from one hip to the other, uncrossed, then re-crossed, her arms. "Well... so... I don't... so why are you telling me now?"

"I was hoping to lead up to this," he said with a sigh. "But the Doctor knows how to cure her. The catch is that he needs to _be here_ to do it."

If it was possible for her to be more exasperated, it now registered even more deeply on her face. "How can you even ask me that?"

"I wouldn't, except... don't you want to see Martha get better?"

"Yes I do," she insisted. "But that is not the way!"

"It's the only thing we have!" he cried out. "Are you going to let your personal prejudices get in the way of your daughter's well-being?"

She took a step forward and looked Jack dead in the eye. "My _personal prejudices_ have to do with a man who my daughter seems to think raped and abused her for the better part of a year. I'm sorry, but I think that has everything to do with protecting my daughter's well-being, Captain Harkness." She spat out his name like bad cheese.

He slumped in his chair. "Fine," he said softly. "You're making a big mistake."

"I'll be the judge of that," she sneered.

A thought occurred to him. It wasn't a guarantee, but it might work if circumstances fell into place...

"Francine, if I can prove to you that her visions are not memories, will you agree to allow the Doctor to come and help her?"

"How will you do that?"

"Leave it to me," he said. "I need to run out and get something. Then can I come back and see Martha?"

She was reluctant, he could tell.

"I promise, I won't talk to anyone who's not one hundred per cent human. You have my word as an officer and a gentleman," he swore.

She almost said 'no'. And then she realised that if she did that, there would be no-one left to call for help. She resigned, and granted Jack permission to see her daughter.

He thanked her, and then walked out the front door.

* * *

While Jack was on the Underground, he fished in his pocket. Miraculously, he'd managed to hang onto the TARDIS key that the Doctor had given him when the two of them and Martha were in hiding. It was a perception filter, part of what made the TARDIS unnoticeable in the world.

He was impatient to get this done, so he didn't have a lot of time to sweet-talk the folks at the BBC. The perception filter allowed him to walk right in through the front doors, past reception, through security. It even allowed him to stand in front of the directory for a bit as he decided the best place to look for news archives. He figured an editing bay would have digital files of pretty much everything since the advent of moving pictures, so he headed for the largest one he could find.

The place wasn't empty, but not all machines were taken. He wasn't sure how the perception filter worked in super-close proximity with others, but he reminded himself that the Doctor wasn't the only guy around who carried psychic paper in his pocket.

Fortunately, he needn't have worried. The editors were hard at work, putting together footage for the midday news, chattering about the latest celebrity gossip, downing coffee, clicking all over their screens and keyboards.

It took Jack quite a while to find what he was looking for. He supposed that something like this would be pretty well-buried because it wasn't exactly a reminder of the most shining moments of British history. Finally, there it was – the news footage that would prove to Francine that the Doctor was innocent of all the things of which Martha's warped brain accused him. He didn't dare watch the video, for fear that the sound would alert someone to his presence. Instead, he grabbed a DVDR from a drawer and burned it. He slipped it into his pocket and headed back to the Jones house with a new kind of ammunition.


	13. Chapter 13

**THIRTEEN**

Francine was leafing absently through a catalogue from a store called _A Smarter You_. It just came with the post once a month, and she had no idea how she'd gotten on the mailing list. She was looking at the anti-ageing salves they were offering, and the electric muscle stimulators.

Normally, she felt that the young/thin/chic/beautiful craze culture in which she lived was a sham, and a destructive one at that. She'd always tried to raise her girls with the idea that what was in their heads and hearts was more important than makeup, fancy clothes or a thin waistline. And she had always tried to lead by example. Never had she commented on their weight or hair, other than to tell them they looked lovely. No fawning or criticising. No exercise "regimens," no crash diets, no excessive spending on exterior accoutrements.

But lately, she'd been dreading looking in the mirror and wondered if some "miracle" face cream might not just have some positive effect. Even if all that it meant was that she could feel good about learning to take care of _herself_ again. Clive, bless him, did make an effort every now and then to tell her she was beautiful, but she knew it was nothing more than a courtesy.

A flash of grey interrupted her thoughts. Just as well – they were starting to run to self-pity. A Jack-shaped streak flew through the front door and past the kitchen, saying "hi" as it moved. She had barely registered his presence when he was already coming back down the stairs with Martha in his arms.

Francine followed them into the living room.

"Where did you go?" the mother asked.

"To get this," Jack told her, holding up the DVD-R he had made. He turned on the television and DVD player.

"Oh no, not again!" Francine begged. "Don't do that to her again!"

"No, no," Jack assured her. "It's not footage of the Doctor. She won't – or at least she shouldn't – have any kind of adverse reaction to this. Trust me. It's just meant to induce a certain type of vision."

The player idled for a bit while Jack, once again, fitted his device together. He put the usual transmittor end on Martha, who had ceased to fight the process. He held the receiver end in his hand, and pressed play.

And there he was upon the screen.

He was standing on the steps, basking in his victory, beside his wife, beside his doomed aides. The man whom most of the world knew as Harold Saxon, but whom Jack and Francine knew as the Master. It was the footage that Jack, Martha and the Doctor had seen just as they had teleported back to London, 2007 from The End of the Universe. Harold Saxon had been on everyone's minds, and every jumbo screen in every city square in London played the clip.

"This country has been sick," he was saying, in the wake of his sweeping victory in his election as Prime Minister. "This country needs healing. This country needs medicine. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that what this country really needs right now is a Doctor."

It was meant as bait for his adversary, and it had worked. Though they had gone about it in a roundabout way, eventually, the three of them had played right into the Master's hands. And of course, by then, Clive and Francine had already been ensnared as spies, and Tish was hired as a... what, exactly?

Jack held the receiver out to Francine, and said, "Why don't you take a look?"

She was surprised, but she supposed she had been wondering all along what the experience of seeing into another person's thoughts might be like. And she had wanted to see first-hand exactly what it was that was torturing her daughter inside her own mind.

She sat down on the sofa near Martha. Jack helped her put on the visor, and then she felt as though she were falling... the sensation almost made her remove the device. And then it went away, and she knew she was seeing what Jack had intended for her to see...

* * *

Martha was feeling anticipation and apprehension. This was the moment of truth. In a little while she would know if all of her efforts, all of her tears and toil over the past year had been worthwhile. She took a deep breath and walked out the front door into the street.

The Master was there waiting. "Oh yes!" he said to her, applauding. "Very well done! Good girl! I've trained you well."

His smile was sobering, approving. Still, she was too stunned to react in any way.

"Bag," he said. "Give me the bag."

She lay it down on the pavement, and the Master's aides came and picked it up. It contained the gun with the four special chemicals that could kill a Time Lord.

"Good companion, your work is done," he told her.

She wondered what he would have her do now. She was able to do more, she could have kept going, but the Master chose this time to bring Martha Jones into the fold. He escorted her to the black SUV, and they were driven through the depressing, barren streets of London.

"How is he?" she asked as they rode.

"As he should be," the Master told her. "Miserable. Decrepit. Abject."

"Good," she said. "Advancing his age like that was a stroke of genius. One very good way to ensure that the bastard can't move."

"Yes, I thought putting him in a cell would be a bit cruel," the Master said, with real sympathy in his voice. "After all we've been through, after all the years he's lived, he deserved a bit of dignity. But I'm afraid I've had to advance his age even further, for even as a senior citizen, he was quite wily."

"What?" she asked, half smiling, half stunned.

"He attempted to hold your mother hostage in an effort to get hold of my laser screwdriver," he explained. "In order to escape, of course. He must have been planning it for weeks. But I'd have none of it. I advanced his age to the full 903 years, and ultimately was forced, I'm afraid, to place him in a cell."

"Wow!" Martha exclaimed. "The Doctor's really in a cell now? And he actually looks 903?"

"Yes," the Master said, genuinely distressed. "It's really more of a cage. But I take no pleasure in it. He and I were friends once – I'm so sorry that it's come to this."

Martha was silent for a bit, and tried to contain her glee.

"Is the paradox machine holding up?" Martha asked, after a bit..

"It is, thank goodness. I don't know what I would have done without it. After the havoc the Doctor has wrought upon the Earth – _removing ten per cent of the population ­– _the paradox preserver has been a life saver," he explained. "Now those nice folks at the end of the universe really will find their Utopia, and won't have been wiped out several trillion years before their time."

Martha felt a chill, remembering. The Doctor had come unhinged at the End of the Universe, when he discovered that his old foe was still alive. After Jack and Martha had wrangled him into leaving that place via Jack's teleport, neither of them had had the strength to stop him. He'd given them the slip, and before they knew it, entire neighborhoods were exploding in mad rains of blood and cinder. Plagues were taking out villages, poisonous gases were running amok in various cells of humanity. The Doctor had gone ultimately psychotic, and was attempting to systematically wipe out all hope that humans would harbour his enemy at any time in the future. In his demented fury, this was the only way he could see to defeat the Master, and he could not be stopped.

Except, of course, by the Master himself. He had been their saviour. Jack and Martha had gone to him immediately for help, once they realised who he was. He had, just in the nick of time, placed a paradox machine in the heart of the TARDIS to give the people at the End of the Universe a chance. The Doctor had gotten cocky and arrogant, and had turned up inside the Valiant. Luckily, the Master's aides were able to wrestle him down, and then the clever Master had rendered him harmless and elderly. At least for a while.

Now, Martha's chill changed to a warm glow. She was on her way there, to the Valiant. She would see the Doctor again, and perhaps even be allowed to witness as the weapon for which she had searched far and wide was used. She admonished herself for having loved him once, in spite of everything he had done to her, to her family, the millions, billions of aliens and humans, all across time and space. He was a monster, and finally, she would be letting go.

When the SUV stopped beneath the Valiant, she stepped out onto the specially-made platform. The Master took her arm, and they were teleported on board. Aides and guards nodded hello to the Master and Martha, just before the Master slipped into a side-room, to make his entrance elsewhere. He told her to go ahead and make her way to the conference bridge, where the ship was piloted, and where the Doctor was being held prisoner.

She reached the end of the hallway, and the guard nodded at her and smiled subtly. A door buzzed open before Martha, and she nervously strode into the room. Her mother, father and Tish were there, as was Jack, disciples of the Master. They observed her with reverence as she passed them. The Master was already in the room, standing at the helm, watching her with pride. She spotted the tiny, helpless figure of the Doctor, in a bird cage hanging nearby. She smiled at him, and he looked back with pathetic, supplicant eyes.

The Master asked her to kneel. Of course, she did so. She considered herself a loyal, humble servant.

"Down below, the fleet is ready to launch," the Master announced to the room. "Two hundred thousand ships to send aid across the world."

He pressed a button and readied himself for the launch, and began the countdown. The Doctor would be forced to see it. The Master was going to begin to repair the damage he'd done, to become a bona-fide saviour to the people of the Earth. The Doctor would not die just yet, Martha realised. He'd be taught a lesson first.

"At zero, to mark this day," the Master continued to orate. "The child, Martha Jones, will be venerated. My first disciple." He looked at her warmly, proudly. "Have you anything to say?" he asked her.

She was too choked to speak.

"No?" he verified. "Bow your head."

She did as she was told. He pointed his beloved laser at her.

"And so it falls to me as Master of All to establish, from this day, a new order of Time Lords from this day forward..."

And then the laughter began. A tiny laugh from the corner of the room. The Doctor, small, puppet-like, dressed in his miniscule pin-striped pajamas, with his disproportionately large, pathetic eyes, was laughing.

"What's so funny?" asked the Master, irritated to have been interrupted in the middle of his veneration of Martha Jones.

"A gun?" the Doctor asked incredulously.

"What about it?"

"A gun in four parts?"

"Yes."

"A gun in four parts scattered across the world. I mean, come on. Did you really believe that?"

Martha was stunned. She'd been sent on a wild goose chase!

"I planted that legend," the Doctor told Martha. "It was one of the first things I did after so easily separating myself from you and Jack. I planted the seeds for a rumour of a gun that could be found, and would kill a Time Lord."

"Then what the hell are those four chemicals?" Martha asked, stepping angrily toward the little cage. "Those four coloured vials that I picked up around the world? They're something! Did you plant those too?"

"No," the tiny man grinned. "Professor Daugherty did."

"That nice old bird who let me stay in her bunker?"

"That's her," the Doctor told Martha. "I threatened her son, and she catered to my every whim. It's amazing how much mileage one can get out of motherly love."

"You bastard," she spat.

He burst out laughing rather maniacally. "Good grief, girl! I never imagined it would take so long! What were you doing all that time?"

"I was spreading the word of the Master," she insisted angrily. "Faith and hope over destruction and despair. Respect for life, respect for friendship. Something that _you _will _never _understand."

"Martha," the Master said gently. "Back off now. He's my responsibility. I'll deal with him."

"Good luck with that," the Doctor mocked. "Because in a few moments, I'll be my old unstoppable self."

"Come again?" asked the Master.

"I'm using the countdown," he announced. "The professor is out there somewhere, and she's hacked into the system. And in fifteen seconds, the Archangel Network will crash, and you will lose your connection with it. And with that, you will lose your power over me."

Martha and the Master looked at each other with fear.

The clock ran down. The Master reeled a bit as he lost his psychic connection with the world. A silvery glow enveloped the tiny, evil thing in the cage. The cage itself dissipated, as the Master cried out helplessly, "Oh no, no, you don't!"

"I've had a whole year to tune myself into the psychic network and integrate with its matrices," the Doctor said smugly as he stood to his full height. His face still looked quite old, but his body was slowly coming back to itself. As his face came back to the younger, handsomer, and yet more sinister version, he said, "The one thing you could never do was think for yourself." No one was sure whether he was speaking to the Master or to his former companion.

Martha ran to hug her family, for what she felt might be the last time. If the Doctor was still bent on destroying all hope for Utopia, he would likely start right here, right now. The Master bravely tried to attack the Doctor with his laser, but a kind of forcefield surrounded him and prevented anything from harming him.

The Doctor sarcastically apologised for this, and then began to advance on the Master. Then, some inexplicable power allowed the Doctor to knock the laser from the stunned Master's hand.

"No! You can't do this!" the Master cried out.

"You know what happens now," the Doctor said, advancing on him more and more quickly.

Suddenly, the Doctor stopped. He dashed for the control panel of the Valiant, and as he flipped some switch, the vessel began to tremble beneath their feet. Martha and her family, the Doctor, the Master, Lucy, Captain Jack, the aides, the guards, all were sent stumbling, fumbling about for purchase. The Doctor and Martha wound up by chance once again in close quarters on the floor, and through necessity, hung onto one other for leverage.

"Time is reversing!" he cried out.

Martha was filled with dread. The Doctor was taking them all back one year, before the Master had done any good in repairing the damage done by his enemy, before Martha had gone out into the world to help spread hope. The world would be in the same ruin as before the Doctor was captured, before the hope and peace of the Master had been deployed to spare the people of Earth.

In the chaos of the moment, one of the guards failed to notice that his weapon clattered to the floor. Martha and her mother focused on it at the same time.

The world around the Valiant was moving backward, becoming more and more wrecked, more and more frightened with each upside-down moment. But, all in one instant, everything stopped moving. The Doctor got to his feet and announced, "The paradox is broken! We've reverted back one year and one day. Two minutes past eight in the morning. It's all restored!"

Their collective hearts sank. "But I can remember it," Francine mused, confounded, disappointed beyond measure.

"We're at the eye of the storm," the Doctor told her. "The only ones who will ever know."

The Master made a sudden dash for the lift. Martha never would understand what his plan was, because just as he turned to look back, the Doctor seized the weapon fallen to the floor and shot him. The bullet lodged just below the rib cage, damaging, Martha suspected, the second heart. She lunged for him, and caught him as best she could as he went down.

The next few moments were a blur, as she saw them through tears. She wept, begged him not to leave them begged him to regenerate, begged him to fight. She realised with terror that he was growing colder, and with even more terror realised that he was giving up! She tried to rally him back to life, but his efforts, his toil, all had been undone, and he was finished. He was too tired, and had very little fight left in him. And with agony, she felt his life slip away. She wailed in misery as she watched the Earth's only chance die in her arms. The only man who could possibly give the Jones family hope that they would not spend eternity as prisoners to the Doctor was dead. She lay his head on the floor, and wept over his body...

* * *

Francine ripped the device off of her head, just as Jack had the first time he'd been inside Martha's visions. She looked at Jack with desperation in her eyes.

"What did you see?" he asked.

She didn't answer. She swallowed hard. "All right," she said, her voice husky and tired. "Bring the Doctor in."


	14. Chapter 14

**FOURTEEN**

Not for the first time, Jack thanked his lucky stars that the Doctor made house calls.

When Martha's mobile phone had rung, the Doctor had been in a café with a cup of Earl Grey, waiting for the afternoon when Jack would ring to tell him it hadn't worked, Francine hadn't been convinced yet. And so, he had been duly impressed with how quickly Jack had managed to convince the incredibly stubborn and mistrustful mother of Martha Jones to let the Doctor into their home once more.

"How'd you do it?" asked the Doctor, leaving a tenner on the table and heading for the door.

"Let her see some of Martha's visions of the Master," Jack answered smugly. "She said Martha remembers _you_ having tried to wipe out the human race in order to destroy hope for Utopia in the future, and the Master being some kind of beacon of hope. You killed him, of course."

"Of course," the Doctor said with a bit of a smirk. He could not have taken a light, joking tone like this before now – he was allowing himself the indulgence of superficial happiness just for the moment. He was finally going to see Martha again, and he was going to be allowed to help her!

"Doctor," Jack said a bit more soberly. "I hate to rain on this parade, but um... we still have one fairly big hurdle to think about."

"Yeah," the Doctor agreed, walking briskly toward where he'd parked the TARDIS. "Even if I'm allowed in the house, how will I get near Martha?"

"Right."

The Time Lord was silent for a bit. Reluctantly, he admitted, "You might have to hold her down, Jack."

"Ugh," Jack groaned. A pause. "Ugh," he said again. "I can't even stand the thought of that. Isn't there any other way?"

"Well, how did you show her the DVD of me?"

"We tied her to a chair," Jack told him. "But she writhed around so much, I don't think you'll be able to get her to sit still long enough to kiss her."

"Okay, well..." the Doctor trailed off.

"Well, what?"

"Let's brainstorm when I get there. Ask Francine what she thinks."

"Ten-four. Thanks, Doctor."

"No Jack. Thank _you_."

* * *

When the Doctor opened the TARDIS door across the street from the Jones residence, Jack was standing outside awaiting his arrival. They strode toward each other, and met in the middle of the street.

"I had an idea," Jack told him as they both stopped. With that, he placed the perception filter over the Doctor's head, the one he had used not one hour before to sneak into the BBC.

The Doctor stared at it for a moment, and then smiled. He looked at Jack, and delightedly, said, "That might actually work!"

They walked into the house, and Francine waited in the doorway to the kitchen.

"So, when's he coming?" she asked, even as the Doctor strode through the door in plain sight.

"He's here, Francine," Jack told her. "Look closely."

Slowly, her eyes focused upon the tie, the pin-stripes, the trench coat, then the eyes, the spikey hair... and she saw the Doctor. "Oh my!" she exclaimed. "That is odd!"

"Shhh," Jack told her. "We don't want to draw attention to him. We think this might be a way for him to get close without getting his eyes clawed out."

"What is it?" she asked. "How does it work?

"Long story," Jack told her. "I'll explain later."

"All right," she said. Then she focused again on the Doctor. "Hello, Doctor."

"Hello Francine," he said. "Lovely to see you again."

Cordially, she returned, "And you."

Pleasantries exchanged, Jack said, "Right then. Shall we?"

Martha was still sitting on the sofa where they'd left her. She had her knees, as usual, pulled up to her chest, and she was rocking back and forth. When the three others entered the room, she seemed to go on-alert. Her eyes opened wider, and she looked at them, but seemed not to register their actual presence. She was like a blind person looking _through_ them.

Her breathing grew short and laboured, and her head began to flit from side to side like a bird. Jack hadn't seen her react this way since his first day there. Since then, she'd been mostly catatonic. No matter – she wasn't screaming or trying to scratch anyone yet, and the Doctor was already in the room with her. So far, so good.

What Jack didn't see was the look of anguish on the Doctor's face when he saw Martha. He didn't hear the short intake of air that kept the Time Lord from bursting into tears. His beautiful, wonderful, clever, dynamic Martha was reduced to this, a shuddering invalid trapped inside her own home, her own consciousness. And what made it worse was that he knew that at this very moment, horrible, horrible images of himself were running through her mind. He could be doing anything to her in her dreams right now, and he wanted it over. He knew now more surely than ever that loved her, and he could not bear the thought any longer that she hated him, or that he could possibly hurt her, even if it was just in visions. He was ready to end this, and ready to begin rebuilding their relationship, and ready to discuss that thing that had brought on all of the dark visions... could it be that she'd blamed him all along? If so, he had a log more damage-control to do than he had realised.

But he didn't have time to dwell upon this now. His priority right now was bringing her back to herself. He silently reminded both Jack and Francine that they should not speak or make any noise. He knew that the slightest anomaly, the slightest sound could alert Martha that he was there and ruin his chances of curing her, possibly for weeks. If the perception filter was to work, they all had to tread very, _very_ lightly.

He tiptoed toward her. Her bird-like movements grew more agitated and rapid, and her breathing as well. She knew something was amiss, but the Doctor presumed that the perception filter was acting as a thin wall between them, but he didn't know how long it would last. He carefully sat down beside her. She looked right at him, seemed to blink a few times, but her eyes were almost blank. Though her body trembled and something was ready to burst, she was still not conscious of his actual presence.

Without wasting any time, he leaned toward her. Almost imperceptibly, she recoiled from him, but he caught her lips easily. A golden glow began to swirl near the Doctor's throat, and it coiled around their heads. Rays of light began to emanate from it, and the rays became swirls in their own right. Soon, both observers could see that Martha and the Doctor were both fully engaged in the kiss, and the golden glow was envelopping them both from head to toe. Even Francine could see her daughter healing, and the Doctor could quite literally _feel _it. Slowly, the tendrils of energy repaired the rip in Martha's mind, replaced her black visions with memories of real time, real love. And there was pain too, but it was real pain, a whole pain, born of friendship and strife, not the nightmarish, exaggerated, fragmented terror of her visions. The glow did not fade with expense of the energy, but only burned brighter as Martha was restored, her personality, her cleverness, her loves, her hates and foibles... she was back.

When he could sustain it no more, when the drain of energy finally became too much, the Doctor broke the kiss. The energy glow faded in an instant, and what was left was two lucid people sitting on a sofa staring at one another.

For the first time, Martha's eyes showed a bit of a sparkle, and she was aware of herself and her surroundings. She blinked, and looked right at the Doctor. "You're here," she sighed, her brow furrowed with emotion.

He smiled, and they fell into another long kiss, perhaps even more healing than the one they had just shared. All the time wasted, all the secrets, all the nightmares went out the window for now, and they just basked. Jack led a sobbing Francine away from the scene and simply allowed the lovers to discover each other again.


	15. Chapter 15

_THANK YOU FOR THE LOVE – SO GLAD YOU WERE ALL REASSURED AND HAPPY ABOUT CHAPTER 14. BUT THE DARK CLOUDS HAVE NOT CLEARED YET – THERE ARE HARD-TO-STOMACH, UNCOMFORTABLE MOMENTS STILL TO COME. BUT I PROMISE "REUNION LOVIN'" BEFORE IT'S OVER, OKAY?_

_THIS CHAPTER GETS INTO SOME PRETTY TETCHY, ALMOST **CONTROVERSIAL**, TERRITORY. PLEASE DON'T WORRY – EVERYONE'S FEELINGS ARE TREATED WITH THE UTMOST SERIOUSNESS AND RESPECT. IF YOU'RE A HARDENED CONSERVTIVE OR INCREDIBLY RELIGIOUS, AND YOU'RE EASILY OFFENDED, PERHAPS CHAPTER 14 WOULD SERVE AS A BEAUTIFUL ENDING THAT YOU CAN TAKE WITH YOU. MIND YOU, THIS IS NOT A JUDGEMENT OF YOU ON MY PART, SIMPLY A WARNING. I AM AWARE THAT ALL KINDS OF PEOPLE ARE READING FANFICTION, AND I DO NOT WISH TO RECEIVE ANY HATE MAIL! :-)_

_IF YOU CHOOSE TO PROCEED, HOPE YOU ENJOY AND ARE MOVED._

**FIFTEEN**

Ten minutes before, she had been a vegetable. Now, she was sitting in the kitchen, sipping tea with her extended family, like a civilised English person. Jack and the Doctor had prepared the pot and the biscuits while Francine had had a tearful reunion with her newly-restored daughter, and Martha had gone upstairs to put on some real clothes. Well, real sweats, but at least now she was wearing trousers.

Now, Francine was on the phone with Clive, delivering the good news. She asked him to phone Tish and Leo as well. And then she joined the motley crew at the table and allowed the Doctor to pour her a fresh cup.

"So how do you feel?" asked Jack.

"A bit knackered, but it's nothing a good night's sleep won't fix," the Doctor answered jokingly. They all chuckled, and Martha playfully pushed against the Doctor's shoulder.

"I feel all right," Martha answered then. "Maybe a bit as though I'd like to scrub out the inside of my brain with a large brush, but I'm coping."

"I felt the same way the first day I came to see you," Jack told her. "So the visions are still with you?"

"Every sordid detail," she said, making eye contact with the Doctor.

"I'm so sorry," he told her.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for," she assured him, taking his hand. "None of that was your fault. Right?"

"Not directly, no," he promised. "Someday I'll tell you all about what really happened."

"Okay... although I'm not entirely sure I want to know," she said.

"Speaking of what really happened..." Jack said, just before sheepishly taking a sip of his tea.

"Jack," the Doctor warned. "Not now."

"What?" asked Martha.

They all looked at the Doctor expectantly, and he scowled contemplatively. Should he or shouldn't he? Eventually he said softly, "Martha, in your visions, I was a killer, a sadistic fiend... a rapist. I was a predatory figure."

"Yes," she said flatly.

"I'm wondering if you've worked out why."

She stared at him without expression. "Yes, I have." Her eyes betrayed nothing.

He continued to speak to her softly, though he knew full well that he could be heard by Jack and Francine. He supposed he simply wanted to signify that this was meant to be a private moment, not to be interfered with. "I have told Jack that you would tell him about it if and when you ever feel ready."

"Well, Jack needs to know, don't you agree?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow meaningfully.

"Yes, eventually, he most definitely will need to know. But I do not want you to discuss it until you feel safe in doing so."

"I feel safe here," she assured him. "I'm ready now. We can talk about it."

"Martha, are you sure?" the Doctor asked, probing her eyes for signs of fear or doubt. As usual, he found none.

"I'm sure," she told him. She took a deep breath and looked from Jack to her mother. She took Francine's hand in hers, and said, "Mum, the Doctor and I had a... _relationship_ during our time traveling together."

Francine gulped. "I see," she said, avoiding the Doctor's eyes. "I'd always wondered. Especially after today... the kiss and all."

"We began our physical relationship on the night we left," Martha explained. "And continued nearly every night thereafter, at least for a while. It was exciting and new..." she cut herself off, a bit embarrassed.

"Sex and the stars," Jack said, as a way of showing understanding. "What could be better?"

Martha gazed at the Doctor. "I haven't found anything," she said dreamily. The Doctor smiled sheepishly back at her. "Our second proper trip together was to a place called New Earth, five billion years in the future. By then, we had been together perhaps the equivalent of a month, and we were really starting to grow attached. At least I was. Anyway, of course, we had this big adventure... giant crabs, cat people..."

Martha sat back in her chair and smiled with bemusement at the memory.

The Doctor decided to chime in from here. He glanced at Jack before he began to speak. "There is this... _prophet_ I've run into a few times, right around that time period – five billion years, give or take, in your future. He had me summoned to his 'quarters,' and he had a couple of important messages for me. One was 'you are not alone,' which was a warning about the Master. The other was..." the Doctor sighed.

Martha used her left hand to hold onto the Doctor's, and her right hand to comfort her mother. "Go on," she told him. "It's all right."

"The other message," the Doctor gulped, and turned a loving gaze upon Martha. "Was that I was soon to become a father again."

With these words, tears began to fall from Martha's eyes, and Jack and Francine both gasped. They both felt guilty as soon as they did, but their reactions had been visceral and out of their bodies before they could control them.

"Oh Martha," Francine moaned. "I had no idea." Now it was her turn to do the comforting.

"It's all right, mum," Martha said, trying to pull her tears under control.

"Oh my God," Jack sighed. He looked at the Doctor. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe I... I didn't want to pry, Doctor, honestly. I feel awful now."

"No, Jack," the Doctor said. "You do need to know this. It's actually quite important that you know."

Martha was wiping her nose with her napkin. They all waited patiently for her to being speaking again. Finally, she said, "Anyway, I didn't hear that part. I had only heard the dying words, 'you are not alone.' And the Face of..." she corrected herself, "the _prophet_ died that day. After we sort of disentangled ourselves from that, then the Doctor and I had a bit of a heart-to-hearts."

"I told her the truth about my home planet, and how all the Time Lords were gone, including all of my family," he said. "And then I told her that she was carrying the new generation." Tears were pooling now in his eyes as well, and they threatened to spill as he squeezed Martha's hand. "She was ecstatic at first, but over the next few days, she started to get sick. I was ecstatic along with her, as much as I could be but..."

"But what?" Jack wanted to know.

"But I knew what the sickness meant," the Doctor said. "Humans are not meant to carry Time Lord children. It just shouldn't happen. Having a Time Lord consciousness inside a human body is extremely dangerous to the host, it can overwhelm the mind, cause an overload... and eventually the host's brain just burns up."

"Oh my God," Francine gasped. Now she joined the ranks, once again, of the sobbing.

"No, it's all right mum," Martha consoled her. "My brain didn't burn up. See? I'm still here." Then she looked at the Doctor. "Wait a mo'. That's not what caused the nightmares, the catatonic rubbish, is it?"

"No, something else entirely," the Doctor said.

"Okay then," she said. Then she continued with her story. "Anyway, he told me about four days later that in the past, there had been viable Time Lord-human progeny born, _without_ first killing the mother, and that it could, might happen again. If the baby was more human, then I'd be safe. If Time Lord characteristics started to emerge, then..."

A fresh flow of tears came down her face. She caught her breath, and finished her sentence. "...then all would have to be wiped clean. Purged."

Jack looked at the Doctor desperately. "Did you mean her mind would have to be wiped clean, or that the pregnancy would have to be terminated?"

The dam finally broke, and the tears threatening the Doctor finally came loose. "I meant the pregnancy would have to be terminated. But possibly both."

"Could you have done that?" Jack asked, incredulous and horribly sad.

"I'd have done anything if it meant saving her life," the Doctor insisted, his voice breaking and his face now soaked. He stared at Martha with grief.

"He said we'd have to wait and see," Martha choked out.

"Well, how could you find out about something like that?" asked Jack. "Wouldn't an ultra-sound just show you a humanoid creature floating around in there?"

"Over time, I would have been able to sense it," the Doctor told him.

Everyone was dead silent for a few minutes. No one touched their tea, and Martha and her mother wept into each other's arms. After this long, difficult silence, Francine finally asked, "What happened?"

Martha closed her eyes and sat back in her chair.

Gently, Jack said, "Francine, maybe there are some things better left to memory."

"Yes," she whispered. "I think you're right."


	16. Chapter 16

**SIXTEEN**

The conversation had drained her more than she had anticipated. The Doctor was right – Jack needed to know. After all, someone had to break the news later on...

And her mum would have pried it from her eventually. She had deemed it easier to have the difficult discussion now rather than wait and dread.

But now, she rather wished she had put it off for a bit. It was a lot to cope with, having just regained full use of her faculties. She still had the Dark Doctor in her mind to handle, plus the proper Doctor, probably now parked outside and waiting for her.

She had begged off from the agonising confab in the kitchen in favour of a hot shower. She now stood under the hot water and sobbed, probably loud enough for others to hear. She sort of hoped they couldn't, but she was too far gone to stop. She wept for the six months lost needlessly to her unreal world of nightmares, and for her own muddled brain still laden with the awful images. She wept because of the weight now lifted from her shoulders, now that she was free. She wept for her mother, who certainly had no qualms about weeping herself, but whose pain Martha could never take away, ever. And most of all, she wept for what she and the Doctor together had lost; their unabashed, unashamed love, and the product thereof. She had never had the chance to do that, and now was the time.

But eventually, all things run down, and she became tired of crying. Her body was literally drained of tears, and she simply stood in the shower, contemplating, remembering...

* * *

When they'd landed in New York, she felt pretty good. Amazingly, as a matter of fact, considering the circumstances. The Doctor had broken the awful news about the possibility of terminating the pregnancy only three days before, and she had spent the subsequent fifty-five hours in bed, laid flat by the sickness of it. He had lain with her as she languished, held her hair back when she vomited, fed her toast and fresh fruit when she needed it, even when she couldn't stand it. He had tried to share in her pain as much as he could, but in the end, it was always she who couldn't sleep, and she whose guts turned inside out, and she who woke in the wee hours with nightmares and dry heaves.

But somehow, after seven days of violent morning sickness, it gave her a much-needed respite. Martha dared to hope that this meant that the worst was over, her body was not 'rejecting' the new specimen, and that the baby would be human. Her spirits were lifted by this thought, and she was able to get up and at 'em and take the Big Apple by storm. Besides, she'd always wanted to go to New York – the real New York, not the cheap reproduction they'd seen on New Earth in the future.

Things unfolded as usual. They turned up for a bit of fun, but had gotten drawn into an epic battle between good and evil in which the Doctor tried to protect innocent bystanders from the crossfire, and Martha watched in horror as he nearly sacrificed himself to save humanity. It was starting to become par-for-the-course with them, but it was still quite exciting! They went about their work with enthusiasm and wonderment, never discussing their dilemma, not really even allowing it to cross their minds. Of course, it was a bit like the elephant in the room that no one mentioned, but it was nice for Martha to have a respite from her morning sickness and mental agony for a bit.

Adventure took her mind off her troubles. She had achieved a delicate balance. And then the glass house came crashing down. She'd been snatched by pig slaves from Tallulah's theatre and taken down into the sewers. Once there, she'd found Frank, which was nice, but then the two of them, along with a slew of others, were marched forward in a doomed trek toward God knew what. When the Daleks came, their question had been answered. She and the others were told to line up.

Amid the chaos, she shouted out, "Just do what it says, everyone, okay? Just obey!"

The loud, robotic thing agreed with her. "The female is wise. Obey."

Another of these beings showed itself around the corner, and asked for a report.

The first replied, "These are strong specimens. They will help the Dalek cause."

That word rang a bell: _Dalek_. She wasn't sure when and where she had heard it before, but she could obviously see that this was not a good situation, so the when and where of it couldn't be that important.

"I will extract prisoners for selection," the Dalek said. "Intelligence scan – initiate."

It put a device that resembled a toilet plunger in the face of a frightened-looking man. He pulled back as far as he could, but the Dalek had him up against the cold stone wall. It seemed to scan him, and then said, "Reading brain waves. Low intelligence."

Defensively, the man asked, "You calling me stupid?"

"Silence," the Dalek ordered him. "This one will become a pig slave. Next."

The man resisted, insisting he would not become _one of them_, and Martha could not blame him. How could anyone face a future as a pig/human hybrid, low intelligence or not?

The Daleks had systematically scanned each person in the line, sorting them into low and high intelligence groups. Apparently, those of superior intelligence were to become part of the "final experiment," the details of which, of course, they would not divulge. Frank was sorted into the high intelligence group, and then the plunger was stuck in Martha's face.

She had watched her fellow humans treated like cattle, sorted into piles like merchandise. The anger rose up in her, and she almost wished she had someone nearby to hold her back from screaming. Her senses were so clouded, that she almost missed it when the Dalek scanning her announced, "Incompatible. Not fully human."

"Repeat," asked the second Dalek.

"Incompatible," the first repeated. "This specimen possesses three hearts. This female is not fully human. She is incompatible with the final experiment."

Her anger exploded right there. "You can't just experiment on people! It's insane! It's inhuman!" By the time she reached the final word, she was screaming.

"We are not human," the Dalek answered flatly.

Still, the implications of what had been said had not hit her. She had heard the words, but she was not given time to think about what _three hearts_ meant. All she knew was that being "incompatible" with these Daleks probably didn't mean that she would be set free to roam in the pasture.

"Prisoners of high intelligence will be taken to the transgenic laboratory," the Dalek announced. "This inhuman specimen will be taken before Dalek Sec, and then exterminated."

Of course the Doctor saved the day as he always did, this time by hybridising his own DNA with that of the Daleks, infusing human subjects with "just that little bit of freedom," as he put it. As this unfolded, Martha wondered why it was that _these_ humans could walk about with Time Lord DNA, but she could not. She never had the chance to find out, as they were all killed as a network, but she resolved to ask the Doctor about it later.

But she forgot to. The drama of what the Dalek had told her overtook their lives. Once they were back in the TARDIS and headed elsewhere, the full weight of _three hearts _hit Martha, and amid a rain of tears and anguish, she told him what she'd heard. Neither was surprised, but both were grief-stricken nonetheless.

And part of their grief came from knowing that sometimes when life and love was at stake, difficult decisions had to be made. The Doctor began preparing himself for what needed to be done.

* * *

Captain Jack wasn't sure why it hadn't occurred to him. He'd been so taken with the fact that the Doctor and Martha had been shagging across the constellations, he'd failed to see the obvious. _Of course_ it was a pregnancy! _Of course_ that's what would put a stop to their dalliance and warp Martha's mind into thinking the Doctor was the enemy.

He lay in his hotel bed, though not alone tonight, staring at the ceiling. The semi-anonymous prone figure beside him had long-since fallen asleep, and just as well because he could not remember this person's name anyhow. He thought back to his time with them. Their adventures together happened quite a while after the pregnancy would have ended, especially if you factor in the two months the Doctor and Martha spent stuck in 1969, and the three months they spent hiding in 1913. Dear God, _that _must have been torture.

He smiled in the dark at how many things made more sense now. He thought about the evening the three of them holed up in the abandoned warehouse for a few hours while running from the Master. The Doctor had gone all mad scientist and set up a makeshift workshop in order to make workable perception filtres out of the three TARDIS keys. He'd demonstrated how they worked, and then was raring to go.

As he dashed out of the room, ready to take on the world, Jack had suggested that they stay for a few more hours, perhaps get some rest, as none of them were sure when that particular opportunity would arise again. As long as no one had found them yet, the idea seemed sensible. It was now eight o'clock. At midnight, they all agreed, they would move on.

Jack had folded up his coat under his head, and lain near a broken window so that he could look at the stars. The Doctor and Martha settled near the fire. After about ten minutes of silence, Jack began to overhear a conversation.

"Are you all right?" the Doctor had asked.

"Yeah, just the usual. You know, death and mayhem, running for our lives. I guess it's starting to take its toll."

"I suppose I could see that," he said.

After a pause, he heard Martha ask, "Why, do I not seem all right?"

"Actually, lately, you seem to be a bit more up. You'd been so depressed," he commented.

Jack heard her exhale, but she didn't say anything for a long time. When she finally did speak again, she seemed to be crying.

"I just keep thinking about..."

"I know, I know," the Doctor said soothingly. "It's going to take time, Martha, for both of us. I think about it all the time, too. I guess I'm just more used to _loss_ than you are."

Her next words seem to have been spoken into the breast of his suit coat. "Lucky you," she joked.

"Yeah," he said back to her, and Jack could tell that he was smiling just a little bit.

She gave a little moan. "Can't we just jump forward to a time when it won't hurt so much anymore?" she asked.

"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that," the Doctor told her. "Real pain takes real time. But you know what? Without that, without feeling, without the bad with the good, what are we? We're just shells."

A long pause, and when Martha spoke again, she said, "I took the bad! I experienced the pain, and I _still_ feel like a shell sometimes. Like my insides were lost, and now I'm just empty."

"Again," he said trying to soothe her again. "It takes time. I know I've said that like six billion times in two billion different ways, but I promise – a day will come when it won't be so raw."

"It's already been five months."

"And look. Five months ago, you could barely even get out of bed. Now you're here with me, hiding in an old abandoned warehouse from the Prime Minister of Great Britain. I'd call that progress."

Another long silence ensued, and finally Martha repeated the Doctor's words. "Real pain takes real time."

"Yes," he told her. "And real love is worth it."

"At this point... really?"

"Yes, really."

Eventually the talking stopped and Jack drifted off to sleep. He obviously had wondered what had happened between the two of them to cause such pain in Martha's voice. He had picked up on the fact that Martha loved the Doctor desperately, but not that the reverse was true – he assumed that this conversation had to do with some planetary adventure, and the lessons about real love were theoretical and part of some great lesson.

How little he'd known then.


	17. Chapter 17

_TWO MORE CHAPTERS TO GO... THIS ONE IS FLUFF, BUT I MAKE NO APOLOGIES! THE NEXT ONE WILL REVEAL ALL!_

_BUT FIRST, THE SELF-INDULGENT, GRATUITOUSLY DIRTY BIT THAT HAS NOTHING WHATSOEVER TO DO WITH THE PLOT, BUT IS OH, SO DELICIOUS. I'D NEVER DENY YOU YOUR REUNION SCENE: ENJOY._

**SEVENTEEN**

After her shower, Martha couldn't help but glance outside. The blue box was there, right where it had been when she'd gone upstairs. She dressed in a cornflower blue linen dress for the spring weather, and said good night to her mum, promising to be back before breakfast, and crossed the street to meet the lonely traveler.

When Francine heard the grinding of the TARDIS disappearing, she forced herself not to run outside to try and stop it. She knew that Martha and the Doctor had many things to work out, and she would just have to trust that her daughter would, indeed, be back before breakfast as promised.

The TARDIS contained an observatory, which the Doctor rarely used and which Martha hadn't even known existed. They both preferred to do their stargazing in person, rather than through a telescope. But for a reunion between lovers, this room had it head and shoulders above the drift of open space. Once again, the Doctor had taken her up just to show off, this time knowing exactly where it would lead. He had even prepared some champagne, strawberries and fluffy blankets and pillows on the floor.

He led her into the room, and turned on some soft lights. She looked at the little love nest on the floor and mockingly said, "Presumptuous much?"

"Well, I'm a bloke," he confessed with a crooked smile. "It's what we do, apparently."

He pressed a button on the wall, and the room filled with a high-pitched, mechanical hiss. The shade was being dropped slowly, revealing a great, glass dome-like window that took up what felt like the top and side of a skyscraper. The universe came into their little world.

As it moved, so did they. The Doctor kissed his lovely companion, and then moved his lips to her chin, ear, neck. She smiled and asked, "What do you think you're doing?"

He answered, between kisses, "Showing off. Impressed?"

"Oh, yes," she sighed. Her knees grew week and she nearly swooned.

When he finished up back at her lips, the kiss lasted long and dug deep. When two people spend a lot of time together, and spend a good deal of that time in one amorous embrace or another, they learn the future of each caress, the intention behind every kiss. She knew... this one was not just a kiss to say _I must have you now_. This was a kiss that meant that time would stretch, and they would be spending hours among the stars, hiding from all else.

She was melting further with each moment, each soft flick of his tongue inside her mouth. She smoothly undid the two clasped buttons of his suit jacket, and slid her arms inside and around him. She untucked the dress shirt in the back and her hands crawled up, feeling his bare flesh for the first time in far too long. This one action seemed to create a warmth that surged through them like a Mediterranean tide. He moaned a bit as he felt the wave, and his body responded in kind. As her body became softer, slicker, more malleable, his was becoming harder, more insistent. This juxtaposition of events had always seemed to her both cruel and beautiful.

He led her to the mass of brightly-coloured blankets and pillows on the floor. She sat down in the middle and daintily removed her sandals. He removed his jacket and joined her. For a while, they just continued their great, revelatory kiss. Arousal was setting in deeply but slowly now, and though they both knew that they were past the point of no return, neither was particularly impatient to proceed. Who knew how long it would be before their next opportunity?

At long last, he took his mouth away from hers and placed a playful nip on her neck. He moved toward her shoulder and continued to plant little kisses all the way across. He slipped one finger underneath the strap of her dress, and let it fall down her arm, and he kissed the space it had once occupied. This little gesture sent another surge of warmth through her, and she gave a tiny sigh. He moved closer and turned so that they were now sitting beside each other, facing opposite directions, but he never let his lips stop trekking across her skin. He placed one arm around her waist, and slowly moved up until his fingers found her zip. He silently begged good fortune for a smooth descent... and it was granted. One slow, lithe motion loosened her dress and he allowed his hands to explore the warm flesh beyond. She felt like silk to his touch, and her skin looked like melted caramel. He felt the cool outward curve of her hip, the perfectly-formed small of her back and the tantalising lack of bra.

Now it was her turn. She reached up and pulled at his tie. Before meeting him, she'd been rubbish at undoing a necktie – now she was a pro. A quick motion or two separated it from his collar and she tossed it aside. His buttons came undone beneath her adept fingers, and she crawled into his lap. He leaned on his arms behind him as she straddled him, her dress hanging lazily from her arms now, and she kissed his collarbone, his shoulders and neck. She nipped at his ear and ran her hands through his thick head of hair, and tugged. At this, he allowed a low groan to escape.

This sound inflamed her – it always had. This visceral growl he gave when he was totally engulfed. At the center of all of this, at the crux of all of their kisses, the unzipping, the unbuttoning, there was now an urgency that was impossible to ignore. Of course she was aware that he'd been growing harder and harder since she'd first touched his hot skin, but now, a backdraft was threatening just behind their closed doors. She pulled away, and still grasping both sides of his head, she stared him dead in the eye. Both were gaping at one another with urgency, with their mouths open and yearning – it was time. Quite suddenly, it was time.

Martha quickly undid one more button and one more zip to free him, and then she reached between her legs to push aside her knickers, and before either one of them could exhale, he was inside her. This time around, impatience and urgency were driving the game – their slow burn had become a swift lit fuse, and they were on the thread set for explosion. She wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders and began to move, both of them gasping on each downward motion. She'd missed his unique feel, the exquisite diffusion that seemed to hit her right to the bone, right to the center. She could find this nowhere else in the universe. Her legs curved around his back, and her entire body squeezed him, and he seemed to expand to meet her demands. She wanted to be filled with him, to absorb him once again... and so she squeezed harder.

She realised she'd been holding her breath, and when she finally exhaled, it was a great release. Her up and down motions had become an indistinct grinding, and his usually cool façade had become sweaty, urgent and verging on madness. Martha leaned back, put her hands on his knees and watched the beautiful, musical pain on his face. She clamped down on him, squeezing her insides, illiciting an otherworldly pleasure in him, and he threw his head back and moaned with perfect abandon.

When he pulled his head back up, there was a crazed look in his eyes. "Martha," he gasped. "It's now."

They both sat up straight and clasped their limbs around each other. In one last desperate, gorgeous thrust, they both seemed to shatter. Groans of grasping, clinging satisfaction came from both of them as they each seemed to release a flood of tension and and pain and love. She got her wish – she was filled with him, and her body's pulsing seemed to reel him in further, force them to melt into one body for a few moments.

When their breathing slowed a bit, he resumed kissing her. He pulled her dress gently up over her head and threw it in the pile with his jacket and tie. She helped him out of his shirt and it too joined the heap of discarded clothing. She disengaged from him and crawled away, shed the last scrap of clothing and lay down upon the soft blankets. He threw his trousers and shorts aside and took his place first on top, and then again inside of her. They wasted no time picking up their previous engagement, the slow burn that was to take them gradually to combustion. Before, they'd been interrupted by something like dynamite. But now, they were calm and in love, and able to smoulder with care. Here was the stretch of time he'd promised in his kiss. Here was where they would make up for all the days, weeks, months that were lost.


	18. Chapter 18

_IT OCCURRED TO ME AFTER WRITING THAT LAST CHAPTER THAT PERHAPS IT WASN'T THE WISEST THING FOR MARTHA AND THE DOCTOR TO DO, GIVEN THE CIRCUMSTANCES. SO, I CHOOSE TO BELIEVE THAT THEY DISCOVERED SOME FORM OF OUTERGALACTIC CONTRACEPTION THAT GUARANTEES THAT THEY ARE NOT COMPLETE MORONS FOR LOVING EACH OTHER._

_ANYHOW, THIS IS THE FINAL CHAPTER - THANK YOU TO VOICEGRL WHO HAS STAYED WITH ME, AND WHOSE IDEA I STOLE IN ORDER TO CREATE THIS STORY. AND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO READ!_

**EIGHTEEN**

And now, their fire having burned itself greedily down to embers, they lay staring at the glass ceiling and the stars beyond, his head resting on a large purple satin throw pillow, hers resting on his arm.

"Mmm," she said, closing her eyes to savour the moment. "Life should always be like this."

"Agreed," he answered. "I've missed this."

"Me too," she admitted, opening her eyes now, to gaze into his.

"When was the last time?" he asked, smiling childishly.

"For us? That night in the warehouse after Jack fell asleep," she remembered.

"Ah yes," he joined in. "Thank heaven he snores."

She chuckled and turned sideways, settling into a comfy position with her head on his chest and her arm across his middle. Neither of them said anything for a long time, but Martha felt as though the old elephant had come back into the room. Either she had to ask now, or the conversation would become more awkward than it already threatened to be.

"Doctor?" she asked.

"Mm?"

"My parents always taught me that life is just a series of choices. There is no 'greater meaning,' no secret to happiness... only choices."

"Mm," was his only response.

When he didn't say anything more, she probed, "Do you agree?"

"Somewhat," he said simply.

"Me too," she told him. "But why do _you_ agree only somewhat?"

He'd known what she was getting at, but he was still pulling his thoughts together. This was a delicate matter, and needed to be handled with the utmost care.

"I choose to think of it as... just a series of circumstances. Sometimes there are choices to be made, and it's important to make the right ones, yes," and he looked down at her and caught her eyes. "And sometimes those choices get taken from you. And all you can do is survive."

Now it was her turn. "Mm." She contemplated what he'd said. _Sometimes those choices get taken from you_.

"I've never been certain, Doctor..."

"I know," he told her, stroking her hair. "And that's my fault."

"Is it something you can tell me, or are there more secrets?"

"No, no secrets," he promised. "It's just that... I wasn't certain myself until the Master zapped me with his laser screwdriver, and then I wasn't exactly in any position to be confessing things."

She had been following well enough until now, but the Doctor seemed to have switched gears unduly. "Come again?"

"The choice got taken from me, Martha," he said. "After you told me about the three hearts, there was a choice. It was you, or..."

"Yeah," she said. "I'm with you there."

"And I had long since decided it had to be you," he said. "If it meant losing you, I didn't want to have a child. So I had to think about what to do. There were choices to be made there too."

"And that's the part I've never been certain of."

"I told you. The choice was taken from me. What happened to you... that wasn't me."

Her relief was so great, she burst into tears then. He stroked her arm, her hair, and numbly let her cry upon his chest. This was it: this was the thing that had caused her nightmares of him to go so dark, this is why her subconscious had seen him as a kind of predator. Because she had never been certain. Now she knew that when the little Time Lord inside her had wasted away and been so brutally expelled from her body, it had not been the Doctor who had induced it.

Even though she knew that had circumstances not taken this course, the Doctor would have had to have been the one to do it, and even though she knew that had that been the case, it would have been to save her life... she was still immeasurably relieved to know that it was not the Doctor. The choice was taken from him, just as much as it was from her.

She thought back. When she'd finally collapsed in his arms, they were safely inside the TARDIS, and had just left the Lazarus experiment. In fact, she was still wearing that purple dress she liked so well, with the shoes the Doctor admired. In an excruciating gush of blood and screaming, it was over in two minutes. All at once, the knives that seemed to be twisting her insides were gone, and she was relieved of her duty. Of course, he had known exactly what to do to take care of her, and after she'd passed out, she awoke in his bed, warm but exhausted.

At first, she was simply thankful that the whole thing was over. Later, the resentment set in. Yes, her life had depended on this very thing happening, but _how could he_? _HOW COULD HE_? It wasn't rational, but these things rarely are. And how could he not give her any warning as to when it would happen? She had assumed he would take her in a room and perform some kind of... _procedure_, not that he would do something remotely. She wondered if he'd poisoned her, or doused her with something while she hadn't been looking, or maybe infected her with some type of parasite. But then again, women had miscarriages every day, and this wasn't any ordinary pregnancy, maybe it was just a natural occurrence. Perhaps serendipity had taken pity upon them and decided to take matters into its own hands... but why won't he say?

Of course, by the time the Family of Blood tracked them down, she'd realised that there were bigger fish to fry, but it was always there... even when he was in Professor Smith's office kissing Joan, even when they were holed up in 1969, making love, not war... it was there. The doubt, the resentment.

She shook the memory away. No need to dwell there anymore. Her questions were answered. She tried her best to dry her eyes, and asked, "So what caused it?"

"At the time, I wasn't sure myself," he told her. "At the time, I had my own doubts. I thought maybe I _had _done something to cause it. Sometimes Time Lords have psychic connections with one another. I've had that before with my other children, and I thought perhaps, I don't know, that I'd willed it to die."

"Could you really do that?" she asked, propping her head up on her elbow.

"I don't know," he confessed, sitting up. "I thought it was just possible. But then the Master explained about his laser screwdriver, how he had contained all of that 'Lazarus energy,' as he called it, into one little device, and then he advanced my age by 150 years. Then of course, he did it again with the full 900 years. That's when I knew. Your being inside Lazarus' machine is what caused you to... collapse that day."

"You're kidding," she said in disbelief.

"When the machine turned on and started jostling us about like a milkshake," the Doctor explained. "Lazarus had put the setting on 'forward' at that point. That's what I was trying to do with the panel in the floor, reverse the polarity, so at least we'd stay put. But before I could do that, the power was just enough the cause the baby to push through all thirteen regenerations."

"Excuse me?"

"Time Lords are given a standard thirteen regenerations," he told her. "It is possible for us to 'earn' more, but we're all only born with thirteen. Lazarus' machine, and the Master's screwdriver, they all use the same sort of regenerative power that the Time Lords use, but there is such a thing as a lethal dose. Someday, I'll tell you about the time vortex and Rose, and why Jack won't die."

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed.

"Near as I can tell, the baby got a lethal dose then regenerated. Then another lethal dose, followed by another regeneration. It took several hours for the whole process to run its course, and then, as you know, you collapsed in the TARDIS."

"Oh my God," she said again.

They both stared off into space for a few minutes, contemplating their entire relationship. They were both usure of where to go from here – she supposed she'd go back and try to finish up her medical degree, and he'd go back out into open space with Donna. The pregnancy had been one small, but giant, reminder of why they could never really be together, but this was hardly the first time she'd realised it.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"Just that... I have to get a life now," she said.

"Yeah," he said. "Have you considered working for UNIT? They always need a medical advisor."

"Yeah, I should look into that," she said enthusiastically. "Bet they'd rush me through the training programme what with all my field experience."

"Bet you're right."

They both laughed, and gazed at each other for a bit.

"Martha, how do you feel?" he asked her. "I mean, after all this... it's okay to be not okay."

She examined herself on the inside. The greatest weight of her life had now been lifted, and she found that she was fine with it. "I'm okay," she said sincerely. "Now that I know the truth... I'm fantastic!"

"Good," he told her. "I'm sorry I didn't clear all that up sooner. Being encaged in the Master's conference room didn't seem like the best place to tell you, and then you left..."

"It's okay," she said. "Let's just leave it."

"I'll make it up to you," he promised.

"Well... you're here," she said sitting up and scooting closer. "And your clothes are over there. That is a very good start." They kissed softly.

He reached over and poured two glasses of champagne. He handed one to her, and kept the other for himself. "Would you like to toast something?"

"Yes," she told him. "Life."

He held up his glass, and said, "All right then. To life." Their glasses clinked and they sipped.


End file.
